A Debt We All Must Pay
by elithior
Summary: This story takes place more than five years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry's Auror duties have led him to some dark places and his personal life has taken a turn for the worse. Harry/Hermione pairing. Rated M for references to suicide, drug and alcohol abuse, and language. Please, heed the rating, not for children!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first venture into Harry Potter fanfic. I love J. K. Rowling's characters but, like many of you, never really felt that Ron and Hermione were right for each other. This story is about Harry and Hermione's relationship after the war is over. Rated M for references to suicide, alcohol and drug abuse, and language. I have no idea how often this will be updated; my muse is a temperamental bitch and she shows up when she feels like it, but I will attempt to keep it on a weekly or biweekly schedule.

If this story suits your fancy, please review. No flames, please.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; they belong to J. K. Rowling. I am simply playing on her playground.

Chapter One: Memories

The fog hanging over the city was thick, not one of the heavy, pea-soup fogs of yesteryear, but still, vision was nearly down to zero, the lamplight thin and wavering. This section of London was more rundown than most and, this late, dangerous. Gangs of young toughs roamed about, breaking windows and pilfering any vehicles with owners foolish enough to leave them unlocked. Bin bags lay everywhere; many had burst in the heat, spilling crud onto the sidewalks where the few lucky enough to be employed would be forced to step around onto the street to avoid soiling their clothes.

The man who popped into existence that morning, as Big Ben tolled two o'clock, ignored all of this. Removing a device that looked like a small cigar lighter from his pocket, he pointed it at the only two streetlights still untouched by vandals. The lights flew toward the end, disappearing from view but not before shining on thinning red hair. Ron Weasley stood unmoving in the dark, head down as he concentrated, muttering words learned long ago, hoping against hope that they would still work.

Nothing happened for a long moment, but at last a low rumbling shook the street and he watched, still amazed after all these years, as 12 Grimmauld Place appeared, grinding into existence with the Muggles on either side none the wiser. He tried the door, surprised when it swung open; he'd half-expected Harry to have it warded against him.

The house was just as gloomy as it had been in the final days of the war, when all their hopes seemed to fray around them, all signs pointing to Voldemort's triumph. Ron was careful not to bump into anything, shaking his head sadly as he gave the troll leg umbrella stand a wide berth, the memory of Tonks' smiling face weighing heavy on his heart.

Creeping down the stairs to the kitchen, Ron held his wand out in front of him, whether to light the way or as a defensive measure, he wasn't sure. " _Lumos,"_ he whispered, and the light from his wand burst in a soundless explosion as the lamps around the room flamed high. The floor twinkled as if covered with diamonds and Ron inhaled deeply at the sight of all the broken glass. It looked as if Harry had smashed every piece of glassware in the house and left it lying where it had fallen.

Ron was wearing boots, but he muttered a shield charm all the same as he crunched across the floor, headed for the cupboard. Hands trembling, he reached out and gently pulled the door open. He stared into the darkness, his eyes needing a moment to adjust. After a long look, he breathed a sigh of relief; it was empty. There had been two occasions in the past several months when he had arrived here to find his best friend crouched in the dark as he rocked back and forth, eyes unseeing as he whispered the same word over and over again, whispered _her_ name.

Back up the stairs now, heading for the living room. Ron could see the sullen glow of fire and the sight gave him a flashback to the night of the last battle, the one which had cemented him and his two best friends as heroes in the collective minds of the wizarding community. They had been so alive that night, only coming down from the high of success as the terrible toll of victory had been hammered home in the form of covered, lifeless bodies in the Great Hall.

The fug of cigarette smoke hung in the heavy, humid air, but beneath that there was a low smell and Ron wrinkled his nose as it became stronger the closer he came to the doorway. Peering around the corner, he took a deep breath, steeling himself against what lay ahead. Finally, he stepped into the room, wand out again as he looked around for his friend.

Harry Potter was sprawled in the floor, a blanket covering his head, the coffee table collapsed under his weight. Ron winced at the sight of an ocean of empty liquor and beer bottles, the overflowing ashtray. But it was the sight of the photos, many taken when he and Harry and Hermione had been at Hogwarts, which really caught at his heart. Harry snorted in his drunken stupor, reaching out for the one nearest to hand before falling into a deeper sleep. Reaching down, Ron snagged it and stood staring, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as the three faces of yesteryear grinned back at him.

It had been one of those impromptu snaps, taken during fourth year, after Harry had rescued Fleur's little sister Gabrielle, and Ron, from the Black Lake. The three of them had been walking away from the pier, headed to Hagrid's when the photographer had snapped the shot, catching their smiles, their elation at Harry's triumph, perfectly. Thinking back, Ron realized that it had been the last time they had truly been innocent, the last moment of purity before the deaths of Barty Crouch, Sr., and Cedric Diggory had ripped the blinders away, revealing the gravity of the situation as Voldemort returned in the flesh.

He returned to the kitchen to wait. There was a broom in the small space that had once served as Kreacher's den and he spent the next few hours sweeping up the mess and depositing in the trash. It would have only taken a moment to straighten things with his wand, but his hands were shaking again and Ron didn't trust himself to cast even a simple cleaning spell. He missed the old house elf as he worked, but Harry had seen fit to free Kreacher after his efforts in the Battle of Hogwarts, a move which most had applauded. Kreacher had fit in well in the kitchens at the school, Minerva had reported, and it was a good way to keep an eye on him. There were those among the Order who still questioned his loyalty, even after his heroic change of heart, but Minerva and Harry were not among them.

Ron had time to ponder the words of the letter he'd received this afternoon and as he worked they replayed themselves over and over again in his mind. _We each owe a debt to the universe, a debt which we must all someday pay. And I now know that I owe two._ He was not certain what his friend had meant, but he intended to get to the heart of the matter before he left here tonight.

The words evoked memories of the last days before the three of them had set out in search of the Horcruxes, and he tried to banish the ghosts that seemed to swarm around him, never seen clearly, but flashing in and out just beyond the range of his vision. A couple of times, he could have sworn that he saw Moody in the corner beside the great fireplace, enchanted eye spinning lazily as he watched over them all. Tonks was sitting at the table, her hair flashing from electric blue to cotton candy pink, then to a black nearly the color of midnight as she entertained Ginny and Hermione. _Hermione…._

Upstairs, Harry Potter turned over and the blanket slipped from his face. He snorted drunkenly, rolling about to find a more comfortable position before falling into a deeper sleep. His eyes began to move beneath their lids as he began to dream, to relive the day that he had found her…


	2. Chapter 2: Dreams

Chapter 2: Dreams

"Hermione? Hermione!" Harry tossed his cloak to the side as he entered the small flat he shared with his lover, his best friend. The smell of burnt toast hung heavy in the air and he smiled to himself as he made his way to the bedroom. Hermione was a dab hand with spells, but she had much to learn when it came to Muggle cooking. Harry had been surprised, considering that she had grown up in a Muggle household, but she'd ruefully explained that her mother and father had usually cooked together and she had simply never participated in what was their own special ritual. He'd been working with her, but it had been slow going and on a number of occasions he'd been forced to jump in and save his own dinner or breakfast before it became inedible.

"Hermione?" he called again as he pushed open the bedroom door. The bed was unmade, just as he'd left it this morning and his brow furrowed; this wasn't like his girlfriend at all. Hermione valued few things over order and she always made it a point to make the bed and straighten the room first thing in the morning. Turning on the light in order to banish the gloom of late afternoon, the note caught his attention right away.

She'd left it on the pillow, just where she knew he'd find it. He'd become accustomed to putting in long hours since the day he'd completed his Auror training and he would usually lie down for a short nap before she finished her shift in Magical Law Enforcement. Today, however, was her day off and he'd been looking forward to a preparing her a home-cooked meal before spending some quality time on the couch. It was one of the perks that he found he enjoyed more and more as the years passed and the memory of the horrors Voldemort had wrought faded from the consciousness of the Wizarding world.

Her handwriting, usually neat and precise, was hurried and spiky, and Harry sank onto the mattress as his brain deciphered the words. _Harry, I have returned to Hogwarts. A student has vanished in the Forbidden Forest and Minerva has requested my aid. I should be home in time for dinner. Hermione._

He folded the paper and stuck it into a pocket in his robe. Closing his eyes in concentration, he Apparated at once to the magical boundary surrounding the old castle. To his surprise, the gate creaked open at his approach, and he strode through into the courtyard. It was only a few days past the start of term and many of the first years were milling about, standing in small bunches and whispering, eyes wide, as he stalked past, headed for McGonagall's office.

"Mr. Potter. It's a pleasure to see you again." Minerva must have been forewarned, because she met him before he'd taken ten steps into the hall. "Forgive my asking, but what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Hermione, Profess – er, Headmistress." Harry blushed at his misuse of her old title, but McGonagall smiled.

"It's all right, Potter. It still happens more than you think." The smile only held for a few seconds before his words truly registered. "Miss Granger?" the old witch said, alarm flitting across her face. "I don't know what you mean."

"She left me a note saying that she was here. Something about a student missing in the Forbidden Forest."

McGonagall's face went pale and she sagged onto a nearby bench. "Take my hand, Potter," she said, her voice faint. "Now!" she snapped when he just stood there, staring at her. Reluctantly he reached for her and closed his eyes as he felt the familiar hook behind his navel.

Harry's eyes snapped open and for a moment he did not know where he was. Looking round in a daze, his eyes were at last able to fix on the fireplace. Grimmauld Place, his mind registered. Listening hard, he heard the sound of movement downstairs and staggered to his feet. Pulling his wand from his back pocket, he made his way below.

Ron put the kettle on after he'd cleaned up the last of the glass. While the water heated, he began searching through the cabinets for some tea. There was plenty of coffee, but, unlike most of his friends, he'd never developed a taste for it. The last cabinet contained several bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey, all empty, and Ron shook his head sadly as he dumped them in the bin. "What the hell is he thinking?" he mused as the kettle began to scream and he set it off the gas ring. "He's killing himself."

"Looking for something?" Ron whirled at the sound of his friend's voice. He managed to hold in a gasp of shock but his eyes must have given away his feelings because Harry grinned at him, his face that of a death's head.

"Harry," he said. "Your hair…"

The spiky black hair Harry had always been known for, making him instantly recognizable wherever he went, was dull and lifeless, lying matted against Harry's skull. Ron had seen his friend just a few weeks ago and there had been some gray in it, just above the temple and down the sides, but now the light beamed on an untidy, unkempt mess of white. Harry's face was wrinkled and unshaven and Ron could see that even the stubble on his cheeks was white, flecked with tiny spots of black. He staggered back until he encountered a bench and sat down forcefully, automatically reaching back for the table in order to steady himself.

"What do you want, Ron?"

Ron opened and closed his mouth before managing to get his tongue working. "Listen Harry, I just want to help you, you know that," he wheezed. Harry turned away and Ron reached out, taking a gentle grip on his arm. "You're bloody lucky that you're not facing Mum." His voice was low, but there was a note of pleading that Harry had never heard him use before. "She really wanted to come, but Dad talked her out of it." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the tattered letter Harry had sent earlier in the afternoon. Laying it on the table, he looked his oldest friend in the eye. "Care to tell me what this means?"

Harry's shoulders slumped and he sagged to a seat on the bench, just where Ron had seen Hermione's image earlier. Ron shivered as the memory of his friend overlapped once again with the present. "I don't know how to go on, Ron," Harry whispered. "She's the only girl who ever really got me, you know?"

Ron sat down next to Harry and put an arm about his friend's thin shoulders. "I hear you, mate. We're all in the same boat with you. Her- Hermione was the kind of girl who comes round once in a lifetime." He grinned sheepishly. "I should know, remember?"

Harry gave him a wan smile in return. Ron and Hermione had tried to make it work after Voldemort's defeat, but what they thought was love had turned out to be two people clinging to each other during a time of great upheaval. They had parted amicably about the time that Harry and Ginny had come to the same conclusion about their own relationship. Well, _Harry_ had; Ginny had held onto the hope of reconciliation until her clinginess had prompted Harry to ask for an assignment far from London. Kingsley had hesitated, but when Arthur Weasley had paid him a visit on Harry's behalf, the Minister had reluctantly acquiesced.

"Have I ever told you about how we got together?" Harry asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting up with his wand.

"Not really," Ron said as he pushed an ashtray across the table. "We just never got around to it, I guess. Probably for the best, aye?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Harry stayed silent for a long moment and Ron watched as his friend's eyes became more animated than he'd seen them in a long time.

"Tell me, then," he said at last, holding in a sigh. "You need to talk it out mate."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said quietly. He took a deep drag off his smoke before stubbing it out, but not before lighting another off the old one. He sat silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. At last, he began talking, filling in the blanks of what Ron had already either known or suspected. As Harry talked, Ron sat back, closing his eyes as his friend's words washed over him.

A/N: I know the first two chapters have been a bit short, but bear with me, please. The next one will be longer and we'll finally get to the meat of the story. I probably will not be updating until sometime next week, but it can't be helped as I must travel out of town and I loathe laptops. Until then, cheers!


	3. Trials and Travails

Chapter 3: Trials and Travails

A/N: Sorry it's taken this long, but real life has gotten in the way a bit. Also, I did promise a longer chapter, and while this one _is_ technically longer, I had hoped to squeeze in a bit more. Unfortunately, this was the best break point without it being awkward and a little clunky. So, for better or worse, here it is. I am working hard on chapter four, rest assured. Enjoy!

"We didn't speak again for nearly two years. Aside from the occasional letter through Owl Post, there really wasn't any contact. The Ministry really ramped up my training after I left London and I spent the next several months all over England and Scotland. Reports were always coming in, news of errant Death Eaters, and it kept me on the move constantly. Hermione's job kept her close to the city and she only left England for the rare vacation to Australia to visit her parents."

"I ran into her there one evening, quite by chance." Ron gave an incredulous snort. "No, truly Ron, it wasn't planned at all," Harry said with a grin. "I was taking a bit of a holiday in the Outback and walked into a little bar in Mutitjulu. You can't imagine how surprised I was to see her smiling face in the middle of nowhere. We spent hours talking before she invited me to her parents flat outside Sydney. A holiday lark that was supposed to only take the weekend stretched into a week, and by the time it was over, we had become a couple."

"A bit fast, aye?" Ron nudged his friend with a salacious wink.

"Yeah, probably," Harry replied. "Hell, we spent the next three years keeping things under wraps, mostly because Hermione was afraid of hurting your feelings." Ron rolled his eyes at this, but Harry could tell that he was pleased.

"How did you manage it?" he asked. "It couldn't have been easy!"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, "it wasn't." He shook out another smoke, counted the ones remaining in the pack, then reluctantly placed it on the ashtray, unlit. "We'd slip off to Australia whenever Hermione could get away from work, or stay here if I was able to sneak into town. I had asked Kingsley for permission to make this place Unplottable again after all the trials, and he agreed that it was probably for the best."

"And you couldn't even tell your best friend?" Ron grinned at Harry to take the sting out of his words.

"Yeah, sorry about that mate, but you remember what it was like just after the war ended." Harry grimaced. "I'd had the Floo connection taken out because Ministry people were always popping in and out of here. Kingsley and I had a shouting match over that one after a couple of reporters got in disguised as minor officials. I believe the only reason he caved then was because I threatened to resign my commission as an Auror." Harry grinned mirthlessly. "That got his attention."

Ron nodded in understanding. The press had hounded all three of them in the weeks and months immediately following Voldemort's defeat, but Harry had borne the brunt of it. "Better you than me, Harry," he said. "I don't know how you managed to keep from losing your mind, all those wizards and witches wanting a piece of you."

"Well, the peace didn't last long." Harry's face darkened, the red of his cheeks contrasting harshly with the white scruff.

"What happened? "Ron prodded gently when the silence began to draw out long.

"Some old bint in Kingsley's office decided to pad her nest egg by selling a copy of my agreement with the Ministry to Rita Skeeter. I guess you remember the firestorm when that picture of Hermione leaving here at five in the morning hit the front page of the _Prophet._ "

"Of course," Ron said. "I remember how you two gathered us all at the Burrow to tell us. Fortunate for you that Mum and Dad still refuse to take that bloody rag after the way they treated you and Dumbledore after that mess in the Department of Mysteries our fifth year. You could have knocked me and Padma over with a feather, but it was good to get the news from you, and not some secondhand source."

Harry smiled in remembrance of the looks on all their faces, all except Ginny. She had rushed from the room in tears and although Hermione had gone after her to try and smooth things over, their visits at the Burrow after that day had been accompanied by a chill in the air if the youngest Weasley happened to be there.

"Yeah, well," he replied, "I felt the same way when I found out that you and Padma had decided to get married."

"She's a great girl," Ron mumbled, blushing to the tips of his ears. "And the kids…well, the kids are something else."

"We were happy for you, Ron, I hope you know that," Harry said softly. "I believe that Hermione was nearly as excited as you were when she heard the news of Jamie's birth." Ron's youngest daughter, Harry and Hermione's goddaughter, had been born six months ago, just before life had truly gone mad. "Now," Harry continued, "do you want me to go on? It's late and some of what I have to tell you from here on out is going to be difficult for you to hear."

Ron looked at his watch. It was nearly half-past five, but he motioned for his friend to keep talking. "Padma is away with the kids for the weekend," he said. "Besides, after she saw the letter, she told me to take as long as I needed to be certain that you're O. K." He reached across the table to squeeze Harry's hand. "I'm not the only one who's worried about you, you know that, right?"

"I know, Ron." Harry blinked back the tears that were very close, ducking his head so that Ron would not see the shine of his eyes. Clearing his throat several times, he lit another cigarette, blowing out a great lungful of smoke before continuing.

"It really hurt both of us when the news of our relationship broke. Not that we were ashamed; it was just the way that it was done that bothered us. Someone thought it would be a brilliant idea to send a copy of the _Prophet_ to Hermione's parents." He nodded at Ron's sharp intake of breath. "Yeah, it went over about as well as you'd imagine. It set her relationship, well, _our_ relationship, with them back a year. They still hadn't forgiven her for that _Obliviate_ before we set out in search of the Horcruxes seventh year. And any headway I'd made with her dad just went out the window; he started treating me like a second-rate citizen every time I was around him."

"Who was it? Who's the little joker who thought that would be a funny thing to do?" Ron was indignant at the further grief his friends had been caused by an unknown culprit.

"I'm getting there," Harry replied, bracing himself for the coming explosion. "You've got to let me tell this my own way, Ron."

"Sure, mate," Ron said, but he leaned closer, not wishing to miss a word.

"I made some inquiries, called in some favors at work, but nothing came of it. In the end, I went outside the Ministry to hire an old school friend. I told no one, not even Hermione. Several laws had to be…stretched, and you know how she can be concerning law and order, and rules of any kind."

The two men shared a laugh; Hermione had constantly insinuated herself as their voice of reason during their school years. "Nice to know that some things never change," Ron said with a chuckle.

"Well, about two months later, this came across my desk." He pulled a slim envelope from his back pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. Ron stared at the emblem on the front, straining to make it out in the dim light of the fire. " _Lumos,"_ Harry whispered, holding his wand just above the paper, and Ron gasped. It was a bastardized version of the Gryffindor lion entwined with the Slytherin serpent and Ron turned his eyes up to his friend, his mouth dropping open into an "o" of surprise.

"What the hell, Harry?" he whispered. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Fancy a drink?" Harry asked, ignoring the question as he stuffed the packet back in his pocket and stood up. Stretching, he walked to the cabinet and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey. Grabbing a cup, he looked a question at Ron, who sighed and nodded.

"Something tells me I'd better," he said. "I don't believe it's going to get any better, is it?"

"No, it's not," Harry said as he found another clean cup and poured them both a good measure. Sitting down with a groan, he pushed one of them across to his friend. Ron took a healthy swallow, sputtering as the fiery liquor burned a trail down into his stomach. Harry emptied his cup in one long draught and sat cradling the empty mug in his hands, staring into the fire.

Ron took another drink, this time sipping cautiously, watching Harry and wondering what was going on behind the distant green eyes. Harry's face was taut with the strain of the last few months, and Ron could see that his friend's thoughts were not happy ones. "What's in the envelope then?" he asked.

"Answers," Harry replied at once. "Answers to many questions, but not ones that I wanted to hear." He pulled the envelope from his pocket again and slid it over to Ron. "Don't think you'll be too chuffed either. Go on, open it," he said when Ron hesitated. "You'll find out soon enough."

His hands shaking, Ron opened the envelope and laid the contents out onto the table. Pictures, taken with a Muggle camera. "Oh, bloody hell," he groaned, looking up at his friend, his face stricken with anger and sadness. Grabbing blindly for his cup, he emptied it with a gulp. Coughing and gagging, he covered his mouth, but not before a fine mist of liquor and spit fell on the top picture, a picture of a young girl looking around furtively, a girl with hair as red as his own…


	4. Truth

A/N: I apologize for taking so long to post. This chapter had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, from my brain before I could whip it into shape. Hope you enjoy, and as always, please read and review. Cheers!

Chapter Four: Truth

"Ginny?" Ron said, his face pale as he turned stricken eyes up to meet his friend's emerald gaze. "How long have you known? And why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want to cause any trouble, Ron. Your family took me in like one of your own from the very beginning, and your parents have sacrificed more than most." Harry poured Ron another drink and slid the cup across to his friend. Ron took a big gulp, spitting and sputtering as he motioned for Harry to continue. Harry sighed and kept talking.

"I waited until Hermione left for work that morning before opening this, afraid of what I might find. My source is nothing if not capable, but sometimes he digs up things that I don't want to see." He picked up the picture of Ginny; the camera had caught her face perfectly in the early morning light and he rubbed at the damp spots before tucking them all back into the envelope. "I was just as surprised as you, you can believe that."

"How did Hermione react?"

"About like you'd expect," Harry said. He heard a mental snort of amusement. Ok, she'd been incandescent with fury, but Ron didn't need to know that, not now. Harry put his hands in his hands, remembering the way she'd raged and stormed, threatening Ginny with curses both legal and Unforgivable as she'd railed against her former friend. Although he'd been angry as well, Harry had wanted to give the girl a pass, not because of their previous relationship, but because he believed that Ginny was acting out of a sense of betrayal by the one woman she'd considered a sister. He closed his eyes, remembering…

"Babe, just let it go, huh?" She'd been raging for nearly an hour, but had finally paused to draw breath. "Remember, she's young, and she still hasn't dated since we ended things a year ago.

Hermione turned on him, anger and hurt in her eyes, and Harry mentally kicked himself for opening his mouth. "So what, Harry?" she said, her voice cold. "What right does that give her to interfere in our lives?"

"It doesn't, love," he'd told her, attempting to salvage the situation. "But grief causes people to do strange things, we both know that." In the end, she'd relented, promising him grudgingly that she would not say anything to Ginny, that she'd let him handle the matter.

He had met Ginny for coffee several days later, in a Muggle coffee shop. The redhead had breezed in as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and they had chatted amiably enough as the waitress had taken their orders and they waited. Harry had purposefully kept the conversation light until the drinks arrived, carefully observing his ex-girlfriend. There were bags beneath Ginny's eyes and she looked tired and rundown. Her hair, usually pulled back into a neat ponytail, was unkempt and unwashed, and beneath the smell of her perfume he thought he caught the unpleasant odor of unwashed skin.

"What did you want, Harry?" she asked. "And where's your 'girlfriend'?"

"She's home and doing fine, thanks." Harry attempted to keep his tone even, but her belligerence had pissed him off and his pulse began pounding harder at the smirk that flitted across her lips. His hands were shaking as he slid the envelope across the table to Ginny, taking some measure of satisfaction at the look of consternation and fear on her face as she slid the photos out onto the ratty surface.

"Where did you get these?" Her lips thinned and her face was pale.

"Never mind where they came from Ginny. What in God's name were you thinking?" He tried to keep his voice down, but the people around them were starting to stare, and he leaned in so that he could whisper. "Do you realize the trouble you caused us? It was nearly three weeks before Hermione's mother would even speak to her!"

"Why should I care, Harry?" she hissed back. "You left me, remember? I wanted to stay together, try to make it work. But no, you couldn't wait to get into the Golden Girl's pants."

"It was two years, Ginny. Two years of fighting Death Eater's while I came home to an empty flat in the middle of nowhere, a flat I was forced to take because you wouldn't leave me be."

She reached for his hand, her face twisting with anger when he pulled away. "I still love you, Harry," she whispered. "I don't think that I can go on without you."

"Ginny…" Harry trailed off, uncertain how to reply. His heart went out to her, it truly did, but all he could see when he looked at her was a sad, lonely woman who had begun to lose her grip on sanity. Compare that to Hermione… "Have you talked to your parents?" he asked after a long pause. "Or a therapist? Surely St. Mungo's has staff equipped to help you work past this."

"My parents," she snorted. "That's rich, Harry. Every time I've tried to talk to Mum, she takes your side. Ron's the same way, and Dad hasn't seemed to care much about anything since Fred's death." She stared hard at him, and he somehow managed to keep a neutral expression; this was familiar territory, and he had no desire to listen to her blame him for what had happened to her family.

"A therapist, then," he suggested gently. Her face crumpled then and he his heart broke a little for her.

"I can't, Harry," she whispered, looking down at the table, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide her expression. "I feel so…lost."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he said softly. "I really am. Please, talk to someone before it's too late." He stood and tossed a few bills on the table. "Hermione and I will help you in any way that we can," he said as he started toward the door. "But I must warn you, stay away from her parents, aye? Next time, I don't know if I'll be able to talk her off the ledge." He walked out without a backward glance, leaving the red-haired girl staring down at the table, her eyes unfocussed and far away.

"Oh, I'll stay away from them, Harry Potter," she whispered, long after he'd disappeared into the crowd. "But that pretty girl of yours…" She cackled loudly, earning her disapproving stares and nervous glances from nearby patrons. "Oh, Harry, you have no idea what's coming!" Snickering and snorting to herself, she picked up her coffee and stepped out into the throng of passersby, headed in the opposite direction from Harry.

"Tell me, Harry," Ron whispered when Harry stopped to take a drink. "Did this have anything to do with-?" He trailed off, unable to continue around the lump in his throat.

"No, Ron," Harry replied, shaking his head. "You can't blame Ginny for that."

Ron looked relieved, but Harry could see that his friend was still angry at the revelation of what his sister had done. "Wait, how did you know what she said after you left?"

"My unnamed source again," Harry replied, but Ron could see him shifting nervously in his seat and decided to let the matter drop for the time being.

"What happened after that?" he asked.

"Nothing." Harry shrugged. "At least, nothing that I could ever trace back to Ginny. Our lives settled back into a normal routine, and it seemed to me that she had changed for the better. Why, even you remarked on how she was acting more like her old self whenever we visited the Burrow, remember?"

Ron nodded. "Well, she did. She started helping Mum around the house again and even talked as if she might move out, find a good wizard to settle down with."

"She did, at least for a while. She started seeing Seamus, going out for drinks with him at least three or four times from what he told me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked. "We could have gone out together, all of us."

Harry shook his head. "No, mate. From what Seamus told me, she was weird about being seen. They usually went to Muggle dives when they were out."

"Why? Who was she hiding from?"

"I don't know, Ron," Harry replied, shaking his head. "It's one of the things I'm still looking into."

"Yeah, right, the mysterious investigator," Ron said and silence again filled the kitchen as they sat sipping their drinks, each man lost in his thoughts.

Five hundred miles away, the crowd at the Bull and Swan was light, mostly layabouts since the respectable folk of Raphoe town were either sleeping, or off to some sort of gainful employment, but this suited the man sitting in the back just fine. The dim light shone on pale blond hair, silvering now, and when the waitress approached him to see if he wanted a refill, she was amazed by the piercing quality of the steely gray eyes.

Draco Malfoy shook his head. "No, thanks," he said, doing his best to keep contempt from his voice. He must have succeeded; the woman toddled back to the bar, and began attempting to flirt with one of the rummies sitting on a stool, arms propped on the polished wood. Draco let his eyes roam the pub, not really seeing the old, smoke-darkened beams, the clean stone floor, as he searched for any sign of his quarry.

Nothing jumped out at him as being out of place, and he returned to nursing his drink. He grimaced as he took another sip; to his refined palate, the Irish whisky was harsh and jolting. "Don't see how Finnegan can drink this stuff," he muttered as he swallowed.

A cold wind swirled through the little room as the door swung open to admit a short, stocky figure, and Draco stiffened, gripping his wand under the table as he watched the man approach.

"Oi, Malfoy, let me get one of those and I'll be right there." Draco winced as Seamus' Irish brogue boomed across the room, but the other patrons ignored him as he ordered his drink, and strolled to the table where his old schoolmate sat. Slumping down, he took a deep pull at his glass, coughing and spluttering at the whisky burned down to his stomach. "You're the last person I expected to see out here, mate," he gasped, eyes watering. "Harry said he would send someone, but I never dreamed-." He trailed off, giving Draco a shrewd look. "Why _did_ he send you, anyway?"

"Believe me, I wish I was back in London," Draco said drily. He made a face as he took another drink, and Seamus bit back a laugh. "As to why he sent me – well, let's just say that the Ministry is watching him closely these days. Now, do you have anything new for me or not?" Draco continued.

Seamus sighed; he'd managed to forget how focused the man across the table from him could be when on a scent. "Aye," he replied as he drained his glass and signaled the waitress for another. He looked at Draco questioningly, but the other man shook his head, indicating his nearly full glass. The waitress brought a bottle and Seamus slipped her a fiver. She bobbed a curtsey and left the bottle; Seamus sighed with pleasure and filled his glass nearly three-quarters full. "Your health," he grunted and Draco stared in amazement as he swallowed nearly half the drink at a gulp.

"I don't intend to roll you out of here, Finnegan," he said, admiring the ease with which the little Irishman swallowed the amber liquor.

"Don't you worry about me, Malfoy," Seamus replied. "I can do this all night, if need be."

"Let us hope that it doesn't come to that." Malfoy lit a cigarette and sat back, blowing up into the already smoky air. "Now, what have you brought me all the way to Ireland to tell me?"

"She's here," Seamus said, lowering his voice and leaning across the table until his face was inches from Draco's. "Spotted her yesterday. I guess you know the history of the standing stones in Ireland, the legends of their power?"

Draco nodded. He'd been forced to learn about the standing stones of both England and Ireland during that miserable spring when Voldemort had taken over Malfoy Manor. Tutored by his insane Aunt Bellatrix, he could still quote their names and locations from memory. ' _The stones hold the key, Draco,'_ she'd said, over and over until he was sick of hearing her voice. _'They hold the key to victory should the Dark Lord fall.'_ He'd had to nod and smile while he'd screamed on the inside during those tense, seemingly eternal months.

"What does Potter intend to do now?" Seamus' question snapped him back to the present and he shook his head.

"No idea, Finnegan," he said as he rose to go. Throwing a few pound notes down on the table (God, even the _names_ for Muggle money were stupid!), he started toward the door. A hand on his elbow stopped him and he checked a sigh as he turned back to face the little Irishman. "What is it?" he asked, letting his irritation show.

Seamus looked nervous, but took another long drink and motioned Draco closer. Draco leaned in until he was close enough to smell the whisky fumes, and his stomach did a slow roll. "Be careful, Draco," Seamus said. "The look in her eyes, the things she talked of when we were alone – well, just watch yourself, aye?"

Draco knew that he was going to vomit, but he nodded, his face sober. "I'm always careful, Finnegan," he replied, extricating his arm from the other man's grasp. "It's how I've managed to survive." Without another word, he strode quickly to the door and out into the cold night air. He barely managed to duck behind the building before his stomach rebelled. Choking and gagging, he let the liquor come back up in burning, ropy strings of vomit that splattered on his shoes. Cursing Harry Potter, he vanished into the dark, walking a short distance before Apparating to a small cottage just a mile outside the little town.

He pointed his wand at the door, muttering ancient words under his breath. He waited for a long moment, his heart racing, until the door flashed blue. Draco breathed a sigh of relief; his wards were still in place. Looking around, he saw nothing, and he hurried inside, shutting the door silently behind him.

Wild blue eyes watched from an alley as Draco vanished into his little hideout. Ginny Weasley smiled, a feral smile that would have given even the most hardened prisoner in Azkaban pause. She waited until she was certain that he would not reappear before dashing past. Crouching low, she sprinted toward the hill on the outskirts of the little town, moving as quickly as possible toward the top, a stream of insane cackles trailing behind her.


	5. The Storm Gathers

A/N: A couple of things here. First, I am sorry that it has taken so long to update this story. When you write for a living, deadlines sometimes intrude at the worst times, and take precedence over the fun stuff.

Second, this chapter has been very difficult to write. Please, go back and read the disclaimer at the beginning of the first chapter; the content here is not for kids.

As always, feel free to review.

Chapter Five: The Storm Gathers

"Can you talk about it, mate? That day?" Harry shook himself; he'd forgotten for the moment that his friend was sitting across the table.

"I believe that I must, Ron. It's the only way I'm going to be able to move past it. But I warn you that nothing I say leaves this room, aye?" Ron nodded, and Harry continued. "It won't be easy listening any more than it makes for easy telling. Sure you want to hear it?"

"I do," Ron whispered, cold fear coiled in his gut. "It's been hard on me, too, mate."

"All right." Harry lit a cigarette and leaned back his eyes closed. He let it burn down to the filter, small puffs of smoke wisping from his lips. When he moved to stub it out, his eyes had filled with tears. Wiping them away, he told Ron of the day Hermione vanished, and of the note she'd left for him saying that she'd gone to Hogwarts, of his meeting with McGonagall, and her Apparating them to her office.

"Blimey, Harry, you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts! Everyone knows that!"

"Perks of being Headmaster, Ron," Harry said, and the tears came harder now as he remembered the night he'd said the same words to Dumbledore, the night of the cave—the night of Dumbledore's death. Waving his hand at Ron to shut it, he kept talking, afraid that if he stopped now, he'd lose his nerve forever.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The headmistresses' office came into view, and he stared around wildly, searching for Hermione. "Sit down, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said as she fell into her chair. The portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses leaned in closer, increasing Harry's nervousness.

"I think I'd rather stand," he said. A cold band of fear surrounded his heart, and he was finding it hard to breathe.

"Potter, please sit down." McGonagall's voice was soft and gentle, the same tone she'd used with him after Dumbledore's funeral, and he sank into the nearest chair. She pushed a tin across the desk. "Biscuit?" Harry took one, feeling as if he had regressed ten years, and was back at Hogwarts as a student. The Headmistress took one too, and they sat munching in silence as she struggled to collect her thoughts. Harry finished first, and sat staring at her until she sighed and motioned at the wall.

He heard the rumble as a section of the wall split, and Dumbledore's Pensieve floated toward him. Looking at the ancient object with apprehension, he shuddered as his body broke out in cold sweat. "What is the meaning of this, Minerva?" he asked as the Pensieve came to rest on the desk in front of him. "I thought we were here to discuss Hermione and your missing student. I'm guessing Teddy?" He pasted a grin on his face, a grin that he did not feel, but McGonagall didn't crack a smile.

"I'm sorry that you have to find out this way, but Miss Granger swore me to secrecy. The note she left you today was coded, and has released me from that oath. May I have it?" Harry saw tears trickling down the withered old cheeks, and his fear increased as he handed it across to her.

McGonagall tapped the parchment with her wand, muttering so fast and low that even Harry's sharp ears could not catch the words. A puff of acrid smoke, and Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell. He gasped as the scrawl of earlier vanished, replaced with Hermione's elegant writing. The Headmistress refolded the parchment and pushed it back to him. "Do not open that yet, Potter," she said as she withdrew a small vial from her robe. Nodding at the Pensieve, she handed it across to him; he was too surprised to resist. "I trust that you remember how to use this?"

"How could I forget?" Harry said with a touch of bitterness.

"Very well then." McGonagall rose and started toward the door, pausing to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll be outside when you need me." She went out, the door closing silently behind her, leaving him staring down at the vial, an expression of utter confusion on his face.

With a sigh he reluctantly tipped the contents into the Pensieve. The liquid flashed deep blue, and he drew a deep breath before plunging his head into the whirling, viscous substance.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

For the second time in his experience he felt no shift in locale, merely of time. Hermione sat almost exactly where he was sitting in the present, McGonagall staring at her, a stern, sad expression on her aged face.

"Absolutely not, Miss Granger," the Headmistress said, her thin cheeks flushed with anger. "Not even based on our friendship will I allow you to do such a thing."

"It's out of your hands, Minerva, and you know it." Hermione's voice was tired, and she looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Harry's heart ached for her, wondering what could make his Hermione so sad, wondering if he'd been so wrapped up in his work that he'd missed the cause of her pain. "It's already done. I just need you to help Harry, when the time comes."

Are you certain, my dear?" Harry was surprised to hear a quaver in McGonagall's voice, and he ripped his gaze away from Hermione to stare at the old witch. "Is there nothing to be done?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione replied, and now her tears fell unheeded. McGonagall handed a kerchief across the desk, and Hermione muttered her thanks as she scrubbed at her cheeks. "I've been to visit three Healers in the last month, and they've all told me the same thing: terminal." The word caught in her throat and Harry felt his stomach fall into his shoes. "Three to six months is the most any will commit to."

"What do you need me to do, Hermione?" The young woman looked at her most respected teacher, the woman who had become more than just a mentor, and her tears began falling in earnest. "Just be there for Harry, Minerva," she whispered again. "He'll need you and the Weasley's more than ever…"

The scene faded, and Harry cried out soundlessly as he fell through the floor, landing on his face in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione stood nearby, her back to him, and fear washed over him in an icy wave; they were standing on the ground just outside the clearing where he had accosted Voldemort five years ago.

She turned and walked through him, heading toward the clearing, and Harry trailed behind, feet dragging as she vanished into the gloom. He knew that he couldn't watch, couldn't bear to see her at the last, yet he was reluctant to return to reality. Pushing through the trees, he watched as she knelt, fingers scrabbling in the leafy litter strewn on the forest floor.

"What the hell is she doing?" he mused aloud. Minutes passed, but at last she found what she was searching for, and she straightened, walking forward until she stood before a towering oak. She held her head high, and Harry followed her eyes upward, his face twisting with grief as the sight of a noose hanging down from the lowest branch.

Hermione turned toward him, and for a moment he was almost certain that she could see him watching her. "I love you, Harry," she whispered, and now his eyes filled with tears. "Please, love, don't hate me for what I do. I hope one day that you will understand that this is the only way. I have to face death on my own terms."

The noose was around her neck. Hermione reached up, her slender fingers tightening the knot. Harry stepped forward as she took a deep breath and uttered one last spell. Time froze, then…"Acendio." The rope whipped upward, and her wand spiraled down to land at his feet. Her other hand fell open, and Harry's eyes tracked the object she'd picked up earlier…the Resurrection Stone…

Without warning he was yanked upward, and then he was on the floor of the Headmistress' office, gasping for breath. McGonagall was kneeling at his side as she passed a steaming goblet under his nose. "Here, Potter," she said with a hint of her old asperity. "Go on, drink up," she repeated when he hesitated.

Harry tipped the goblet, wincing at the harsh taste of the potion. "Thanks," he gasped, setting the goblet aside and pushing himself to his feet. "Where is she, Minerva?"

"The hospital wing. I've had Poppy close it down for now." She gave him a hard look. "We don't want news of this getting out, not yet. Besides, I expect that you will want to spend some time with her…" She gave way to harsh, choking sobs, and Harry felt the sting of tears again.

"Take me to her, Professor, please," he said. His bones ached; it felt as if he'd aged a hundred years in the last fifteen minutes. Walking across the floor, he moved as if he were an old man.

"Of course, Potter." They went down the stairs and through the halls, encountering no one as they walked. It was time for the evening meal, and Harry was glad that they were not seen; all those young eyes staring at him when he'd arrived had been unnerving.

Hagrid was standing in front of the door to the hospital wing. He looked up as they approached and Harry saw that he'd been crying; his beard was wet, and he wiped at red-rimmed eyes as he folded Harry into a rough hug. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, his voice cracking and breaking with grief. "The Headmistress sent me to get her after..." Overcome with a fresh bout of weeping, the big man patted Harry's shoulder hard enough to nearly send him to his knees before shuffling away, shoulders bowed.

McGonagall watched him go, tears streaking her lined face. At last she waved her wand, and the wards on the door faded. "I'll wait here, Potter," she said, taking a seat on a nearby bench. "Take all the time you need."

"Thanks, Professor." Harry took a deep breath before pushing the door open, slowly, as if afraid that Hermione would wake. She was lying on the bed furthest from the hallway, and Harry pulled a chair close and sat, staring at her pale face as he gently stroked her cheek. Hagrid had placed her wand and the stone on a nearby table, and Harry tucked them both in his pocket before turning back to her. The tears broke free, and he wept, his body shaking with the storm of his anguish.

His memories came fast and hard: the first day on the Hogwarts Express when she'd barged in on him and Ron. The look of terror on her face as he and Ron fought like mad to save her from Quirrell's mountain troll. Her face, battered and bruised from the battle in the Department of Mysteries. He remembered her laugh, their time snuggling on the couch, loving her in his bed, the heat of her body as he'd held her close in those treasured moments before sleep claimed them.

"Oh, Hermione, love," he whispered, holding her cool hand to his fevered cheek. "Why didn't you come to me? What in Merlin's name am I supposed to do now?"

 _You'll go on, my love, the way you always have._ He could hear the smile in her voice, and he looked around wildly, half-expecting to see her standing beside him, her face turned up to his with the devilish grin that was for him alone.

"Harry? You want to keep talking, mate?" Ron's voice, and Harry started, knocking the ashtray to the floor, scattering butts and ashes everywhere. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you, mate," Ron said as he jumped up and grabbed the broom; the firelight glinted off his wet cheeks as he made quick work of the mess and dumped it in the bin.

Harry looked at his watch; it was nearing seven o'clock, and he was emotionally wrung out. "I think you know most of the rest," he said. They had buried Hermione in the small cemetery in Godric's Hollow, near James and Lily. With Minerva's help, Harry had managed to keep the manner of her death between the two of them, Hagrid, and Madame Pomfrey.

"I'm sorry, Ron," he said quietly. "I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you the truth. You see, I know now what she was holding back, and why; she wished to spare us the pain her death would cause. She had cancer, Ron, and it was too far advanced for even magic to heal." He leaned across the table to stare into Ron's blue eyes, which were red and swollen. "It was in her bones, Ron. She was in incredible pain."

"But why did she go to McGonagall? Why not come to you, or Mum?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, to tell Ron about the long hours he'd been putting in at work, about how he'd come home later and later, and of how they'd spoken less and less over the last month of Hermione's life. He was spared when a tiny owl clattered down the chimney, landing in a pile of filthy feathers at Ron's feet.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron swore. Harry's heart sped up as he recognized the colored parchment attached to the bird's leg. _Draco._

Disclaimer: I am sorry for the manner of Hermione's death. I must take the easy way out, and say that the story just kind of wrote itself, and that I was just as horrified and surprised as you.

Suicide is no laughing matter; it's a complex intertwining of many factors, and medical factors are often an underlying cause. I do not condone suicide in any way, shape or form, but I can understand why someone could feel overwhelmed. Seven years ago I lost a leg, and for the first three months I felt hopeless and useless. I wanted out. Fortunately, I called the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and spoke with a woman who was very caring and patient, and she aided me in getting the help I needed. If you are having similar feelings, I implore you to reach out. There are people out there who are willing to help.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Charade

Harry snatched the miserable creature from Ron's grasp, clawing the parchment from the tiny leg. The owl screeched in protest; Harry murmured an apology as the paper fell into his hand. "Give him a treat, Ron," he said as he read the note. Ron tossed two Owl Treats from the bowl beside the fireplace and the little bird vanished back up the chimney, leaving behind an angry splash of droppings on the hearth.

"Who's it from, Harry?" Ron turned back just in time to see Harry crash to the bench; he missed and landed heavily on his ass. "Harry, what is it?" Ron splashed a half measure of Ogden's into a glass, pushing it into his friends' hand.

Harry gulped it without taking his eyes from the scrap in his hand. Finally, hands shaking, he slid it across the table to Ron. "You might as well read it," he said in a choked voice. "It concerns you, too."

He nodded as Ron hesitated and took another long pull at his glass as his oldest friend picked up the parchment. Ron's eyes scanned the cramped handwriting, and his eyes bugged out as he let it fall to the floor. "Harry," he said, his face as pale as chalk. "Harry, it can't be true!"

"I don't want to believe it either, Ron. But it explains so much." Harry raced upstairs, and Ron stooped and picked up the paper, reading it again several times as his friend thumped and bumped about the old living room.

At last Harry returned, carrying two broomsticks. One was Harry's old Firebolt, but Ron only had eyes for the other broom, which was done in twists of Gryffindor scarlet and gold. "Where in Merlin's name did you get that?" he stammered.

"Treated myself to it after Hermione's death," Harry said with a smile that did not quite touch his eyes. "I'll take it easy on you, I promise."

"Where are we going?" Ron took the Firebolt from Harry's outstretched hand, his eyes sweeping hungrily over the old racing broom.

"Ireland." Harry put his wand to the note, burning it to ash in the fireplace. The flames were green, and he sighed with relief; one of Draco's more ingenious inventions had been to find a way to infuse ink in such a way that it gave a client proof that a communique had originated with him.

"Ireland?" Ron's voice was incredulous. "Blimey, Harry. It'll take us all night, even with these brooms."

"Don't worry, Ron, I have no intention to make that long a flight. We'll travel by portkey to Castle Rock in Edinburgh, then fly to Raphoe."

"Portkey? Got an authorization for that?" The Auror in Ron was coming out.

Harry grinned, this time a grin like the one Ron remembered from school. Pulling a paper from his jacket pocket, he tossed it his friend. "Sure do," he said as Ron folded it open, gaping at the signature at the bottom.

"I don't remember signing this," he muttered.

"Well, you did. You just signed it for one of my investigator's agents. So, are you coming or not?"

Cursing under his breath, Ron followed Harry to the parlor. They waded through an ocean of empty whiskey bottles to a photo of the three friends taken at Hogwarts. He smiled as Harry pushed it aside to reveal a dirty sock. "Dobby?" he asked as Harry's hand hovered over the filthy cloth.

"Yes, the mate of the one I gave him to trick Lucius into freeing him." Ron felt tears spring to his eyes as they both took hold of an end, and the familiar pull of magic tugged them across the country.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Draco paced from one end of the small cottage to the other, seeming like nothing more than a caged lion. This was the part of the job that he hated the most, waiting for the client to join him as they moved in on their quarry. Most times he was given free rein to do what needed to be done, but he had several regulars who wanted to be in on the action, for whatever reason.

"Any word yet?" Seamus slurred from the table in the tiny kitchen. Draco had sent him a Howler to make sure that he was awake, but he was still drunk, and the incipient hangover was going to be a doozy.

"No," Draco said shortly. He'd set a pot of coffee on when he'd received word that the Howler had been delivered, but he had a feeling that the little Irishman was fortifying his cup when he wasn't looking. Lighting a cigarette, he walked to the window for what seemed like the hundredth time. Daylight was beginning to filter in through the tatty blinds, and he chuffed out smoke as the rim of the sun broke the horizon. "What is taking so long?" he wondered aloud.

As of in answer, there was a soft knock at the door. Finnegan got to this feet, stumbling a bit as he pulled his wand from a pocket inside his coat. "I'll get it, Malfoy," he said.

"Wait," Draco said. "It's not Potter. We use coded knocks."

"Probably just some Muggle who has the wrong house, then." Seamus started to put his wand away, but Draco made a negating motion with his hand.

"Keep ready, Finnegan," he hissed. "The wards I set here should have signaled _anyone_ who came up the walk. No, there is some powerful magic at play here."

The door blew inward with a roar; both men shielded their eyes from flying debris. When the dust settled, Draco looked up, the lips of a stunning spell on his lips. His face turned grey and his wand fell to the floor as he stared in shock at the figure standing in the shadowy dawn. Bellatrix stared at her nephew, her mad eyes taking in the mess, the frightened look on the face of Seamus Finnegan. _Stupefy!_ she yelled, and he fell to the floor with a thump. "Now, nephew," she said as she started across the room, "perhaps it's time that we had a talk."

She took a seat on the ratty couch and patted the space beside her. "Come, have a seat beside dear Auntie Bellatrix."

"You're supposed to be dead." The words fell from his lips like blocks of ice. "You can't be here!"

"True. But like the man said, 'The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'"

Draco kept his eyes on the apparition (for that was what his mind insisted he was seeing) as he bent to retrieve his wand. He kept it trained on her as he moved to take a seat in the armchair opposite the couch. Amazingly, his cigarette was still burning and he took a long drag.

"Oh, Draco," Bellatrix shrieked, the sound sending waves of revulsion through him; he envisioned being covered in live roaches. "Smoking now are we? How perfectly _Muggle_ of you!"

"Before I call the Aurors, Bella, what is it that you want?"

"You'd betray your dear Auntie?" Bellatrix put her hand to her chest in mock surprise. "Become quite the Ministry lad, have you?"

Draco snorted. "I have no more love for the Ministry now than I did when the Dark Lord was still living. But I'll be damned if I let you return to upset all the progress I've made in gaining the respect of the wizarding world."

Bellatrix yawned. "I thought as much, nephew. Well, I don't need you anyway, not for what I intend. _Stupefy!"_

The red bolt shot from a tear in the ragged skirt, catching him a glancing blow, and Draco cursed as he staggered to his feet. His mouth would not form words, and his wand fell to the floor in slow motion. The last sight he had was of Bellatrix's face looming over him, and horror filled his mind as the matted black hair shimmered in his vision, replaced by flaming red. _Weasley_ , he thought. _Potter's walking into a trap!_


	7. Revelation

Chapter Seven: Revelations

"Minerva." McGonagall's eyes snapped open. She'd been dozing at her desk again. It had become more frequent since Hermione's terrible, tragic death. "Minerva." Albus.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

"They've gone, haven't they?" McGonagall shifted in her chair, but she would not turn to look at his portrait. Dumbledore sighed. "Why, Minerva? Why are you letting things play out this way?"

"Because, Albus," she said, and now she did turn to him, blue eyes blazing. "Potter is no longer a boy. He has done what he was destined to do. His life belongs to him alone, not the whole bloody Wizarding community." She was weeping now, and she brushed the tears away, infuriated for what had happened to Hermione, Harry, and angry with herself for crumbling like this in front of Albus.

"It's all right, Minerva," Dumbledore said, and his tone was abashed. "I forget at times such as these that I can no longer influence events as I once did. I know that Harry is capable of making his own choices. Forgive me for doubting yours."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The portkey dumped them in front of a small outbuilding, Castle Rock looming high above them. Harry cast a charm over them both as they took off in a driving, blinding rain. Ron watched in amazement as a large bubble formed at the tip of Harry's wand until they were enclosed in a warm, dry cocoon.

"Impressive," he said, and he meant it.

"Hermione," Harry said absently. "She combined the Bubble-Head charm with the Impervius charm so that they could be used at a wider range." He smiled, and Ron's heart broke a little at the sadness on his friend's face. "I hired Draco after the funeral," Harry continued, clearing his throat. Now that he'd begun speaking, it seemed that he couldn't stop. "He and Seamus partnered after the war to conduct missions of a sensitive and clandestine nature, things which needed to be handled outside the purview of the Ministry."

Ron stared. "How's he managed to keep himself out of the Ministry's sights? There are eyes on his entire family at all times!"

Harry looked at his oldest friend, a smug smile on his lips. "Having the protection of Kingsley's Golden Boy goes quite a ways."

"You!" Ron turned an alarming shade of red. "But you've been on leave from the Aurors for months! And Malfoy! Why didn't you come to me?"

Harry shrugged. "It was a marriage of convenience, Ron. And trust me; you don't have the stomach for Malfoy's methods. It's a dirty business at times. As for the Aurors, Kingsley has allowed me to keep them out of things as long as I keep Malfoy on a short leash."

"Wow," Ron said, amazed. Then he turned to Harry, and his face was pinched and unhappy. "Harry, Ginny's my sister. I need you to promise me one thing. Promise me that you'll let me talk to her, try to get her to come in voluntarily."

"If I can, Ron. But if she starts firing off spells, all bets are off."

Ron nodded. "Aye, that's fair enough."

"Well, now it's all out in the open, Ron. The drinking you already know about." Harry rubbed at the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry, mate. Sorry that I let my grief for Hermione turn me away from the people I love—and who love me."

"I don't think I'd have known what to say, Harry," Ron replied, turning away to hide the tears in his eyes. "Even now I can hardly believe that she's gone." His voice broke on the last word.

"I know, Ron. I know."

They flew in silence until the Irish coast loomed before them, the breakers crashing far beneath them. The storm had been left behind long ago and the early morning sun turned the whitecaps a beautiful rose-gold. Harry flew straight, never varying his course, and Ron had to admire his friend's sense of direction.

"Higher," Harry said as they approached the city of Derry. Ron followed as Harry led them up until the clouds concealed them from view.

"How high can you go with this charm?" he asked.

"I've gone to ten thousand feet," Harry replied, and Ron stared in awe. "But this charm isn't immune to cold. It helps, but I had to bundle up until I could barely see." He grinned, and again Ron saw a hint of the boy he'd known in school. "Hermione raked me over the coals when I landed."

"I'd imagine so!" Ron said. "Blimey, ten thousand feet!"

"Yes, and don't you go trying it, Ron," Harry replied. "Your mother would skin us both, or transfigure us into something horrible!"

"Yeah, we'd probably wind up as gnomes in the garden," Ron said.

"Exactly," Harry said. "Now, come on, let's give shake the rust off that Firebolt!" Harry let the charm fade as he zoomed away, and Ron lay across the broom, flying faster than he'd ever flown. He felt exhilaration he'd not had since school, and he screamed into the wind as he followed his friend.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The journey from Derry to Raphoe seemed to take only a few moments. Ron felt as if his buttocks had turned to ice, and his arms had gone rubbery from holding tightly to the broom. Finally Harry began to descend, and Ron saw cars moving about as the Muggles went about their daily business. Harry gave the little town a wide berth, circling around to the west. They passed over a rough stone circle, and Ron shivered at the sight. Like many in the muggle and wizarding room alike, he was suspicious of the standing stones and the pagan festivals which were celebrated there.

The two men landed in front of a tiny cottage. The door was ajar, and Harry's heartbeat sped up until if felt as if it might hammer right out of his chest. "Wand out." Harry did not turn to check if Ron was listening; his attention was focused on the open door. The wards were gone, and his hand trembled slightly as he pushed his way into the cottage. The lights were still on, and he sucked in his breath at the sight of the room.

The walls were blackened and bright sunlight through holes in the roof. What had once been a couch lay smoking in the middle of the room, while the kitchen had been nearly destroyed. The section of wall where the stove had once been was gone, large pieces of the range lying in the yard like the bleached bones of some unknown creature.

"Merlin's beard." Ron's voice was awed and fearful. "Someone had it out, and big time."

Harry started to the kitchen where a leg protruded from beneath what had once been a china cabinet. "Little help here, Ron," he said as he grabbed one end in preparation to lift.

"Just levitate it, Harry," Ron said, rolling his eyes with exasperation.

"Can't chance it," Harry said through gritted teeth; the damn thing was dark wood probably walnut, and heavy. "Whoever did this may have left some sort of ward behind."

He and Ron heaved the cabinet upright; Seamus' dead eyes stared up at them. "Damn," Harry said, his voice thick with rage and grief. "Damn! Whoever did this must have taken Draco!"

"I don't know if that's true, mate," Ron replied as he knelt to close Seamus' eyes. "But this may be part of the answer." He held up a wand, and Harry felt his blood freeze.

He'd seen this wand in his dreams, in nightmares. It was the wand with which Tonks had been murdered, the wand which had cast the spell that killed Sirius. It was the wand with which Hermione had been tortured for her knowledge of the Sword of Gryffindor. Twelve and three-quarter inches, walnut, with a core of dragon heartstring. Ollivander had told him that it was as unyielding as the woman who'd owned it. Bellatrix Lestrange.

"It's not possible," he said as he took it from Ron. "She's dead. I saw her die!"

"So did I, Harry," Ron said. "But she was a murderer, just like Voldemort. Isn't it possible that she had a Horcrux or two stashed away, just in case?"

"Bloody hell, Ron" Harry said, sagging against the china cabinet. "If that's true, then she must be working through Ginny!" He closed his eyes against the horror imprinted on Ron's face. It all made sense now; Ginny's withdrawal from everyone in her family, her seeming madness when she'd met him in the coffee shop, the moves she'd made to hurt him and Hermione. "Come on, Ron," he said, and now his voice was filled with fury. "We have to find Malfoy."

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update, but real life insists on tearing me away. I appreciate all of you who have stuck with it so far; like you, I hate getting into a story which isn't complete. The next chapter is already half finished, and I hope to post it this weekend. In the meantime, please read and review! Cheers!


	8. The Beginning of the End

Chapter Eight: The Beginning of the End

Draco came back to consciousness slowly, opening eyes gummed with blood. He tried to rub them clean, but his arms refused to budge. Body bind curse, he thought grimly. There was little light, but he could see Ginny Weasley lying on a nearby cot. Her skin was covered with sweat, and she tossed about on the thin mattress, moaning in her sleep. "No," she muttered. "Leave me be." Draco had never mastered wandless magic; he could only watch, helpless, as the girl thrashed about, lost in a nightmare from which she could not waken.

 _But we're so close now._ The tone was light and gentle, but Ginny sensed the madness barely submerged beneath the surface. _Soon Potter will pay for his choice, his love for that little mudblood._

"I will not harm Harry!" she said aloud, and Draco stared at her in astonishment. This was the girl who'd been trying to wreck Potter's life for months. He swore softly in frustration for his inability to hear the other side of this conversation.

Laughter echoed in Ginny's mind. The sound filled her with fear; it was the sound of cats mating in the back garden, screeching higher and higher as one took his pleasure in the other's pain. _But you've already killed the mudblood. Harry Potter will never accept you. The best you can hope for is to die in battle as we go forth to my triumph. If you resist, you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban, tormented by the dementors until your mind shatters beneath the weight of your own misery._

"No!" The scream roused the girl from her broken sleep, and she sat up, pulling lank, oily hair back from her sweaty neck. Draco's eyes widened at the sight of the heavy earrings hanging from Ginny Weasley's lobes. He'd seen them before in an old picture of his mother and her two sisters, taken before Andromeda had slipped away to marry the Muggle, Ted Tonks. The last time he'd seen them, they'd been dangling from the ears of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Hurry up, Potter," he muttered as Ginny turned her mad gaze on him. "This is worse than we thought."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry and Ron laid Seamus' body in the front room, covering him with a blanket. There were no marks on him, and the men surmised that he'd been murdered with the Killing curse. "Only logical conclusion," Ron said as he knelt beside his old friend. "I'd be willing to bet that he never saw it coming."

"Probably not," Harry said. Despite his grief, his eyes were dry; the familiar numbness, the gray cloud which had enveloped him at Hermione's death, encroached once again on his mind. He let his brain take over, recasting the wards so that no Muggles would approach the cottage. Then he and Ron repaired the wall in the kitchen, and the holes in the roof.

Afterward they went over the little house like the detectives of old, searching for any sign of Draco or his kidnapper. Ron wanted to use his to search for any magical sign, but Harry overruled him. "Can't risk tipping our hand, Ron," he said as he set Bellatrix's wand aside. He hated the feel of the thing; it lay on the countertop like a coiled snake, ready to strike when his back was turned. "If Ginny gets away from us now, there's no telling when we might pick up her trail again."

"I'm surprised, with all the innovations that you and Draco have made, that you don't have some sort of charm so that one of you can always find the other," Ron said several hours later, when they paused to take a break. "It would certainly make our lives easier about now."

"We considered it once," Harry replied. He'd conjured comfortable armchairs for them both; they were soft and welcoming, but neither man could fully relax. "We decided that it would be too much of a liability for both of us. We couldn't afford the risk of others being able to track our activities. The odds were too great that someone might finally trace our activities and expose our relationship."

"Jesus, Harry. You make it sound as if you were conspiring against the Ministry instead of trying to find out what happened to Hermione."

"In the eyes of some I might as well be if we're found out, Ron. There are still those in the Ministry, and the wizarding world as a whole, who believe Draco belongs in Azkaban with his father."

"And you don't?" Ron blushed as Harry looked at him in hurt surprise, but he set his jaw; now that his fears had been voiced, he refused to back down from the question.

"No, Ron, I don't," Harry replied. "Malfoy may sometimes operate at the edge of the law, but he's careful to never step over the line. Well, never _too_ far over it. Don't you know me better than that after all these years?"

"I thought I did, Harry," Ron said in a whisper. "But since Hermione's death, you've changed, mate. And now Seamus is dead, Malfoy and G-Ginny are missing." He stared at his friend, and his gaze was nearly pleading. "If we can't find them soon, Harry, I will have no choice but to call in the Aurors."

"No, Ron. We can't afford the scrutiny that would bring!" Harry's hand was on his wand, and Ron stared at his friend in shock. "I'm sorry," Harry said, mastering himself with an effort. "I-I think that I know what this is about. I think that I've finally figured out Ginny's endgame. You bring in the Ministry now, it may blow our chance. Innocent people could be hurt—or killed."

He fished something out of his pocket, and tossed a small bottle to Ron. Ron caught it out of reflex. "Potion bottle," he said. "So what?"

"Read the inscription," Harry said, his face grim and unsmiling.

" _E_ _stque ea ossis_ _,_ " Ron said. "I don't understand, Harry."

"This fell out of the china cabinet," Harry replied. "Draco hid it there, I have no doubt. He meant for me to find it, Ron."

"But what does it mean? It's just an old potion bottle."

Harry closed his eyes, but not before Ron saw a mixture of anger and pain flash through the emerald depths. "Open it," he whispered.

Ron removed the stopper and a light, floral fragrance filled the little room. "Hermione's perfume," he said, his tone puzzled. "What's the big deal?"

"It's a brand of _Muggle_ perfume, Ron." Harry stared at his friend, and Ron shrugged his shoulders, puzzled.

"What's it doing in a potion bottle?"

Exactly," Harry replied. "My Latin is rusty, Ron, but not that rusty. The inscription reads, "In the bone. And Hermione had-."

"Bone cancer," Ron breathed. "Oh, Harry."

"I believe that Ginny killed Hermione, Ron. I don't think she meant to. Once again she's being controlled, much as she was second year, but this time it's Bellatrix. Perhaps she's attached her spirit to Ginny the way that Voldemort did to Quirrell, I don't know, but Ginny is not responsible. This is Bellatrix getting back at me for Voldemort's defeat. She took the one person from me who I valued above all others, just as I did to her."

"What are we going to do?" Ron was horrified at the picture harry had painted, but his pulse was racing, and he felt more alive than he had since the Battle of Hogwarts five years ago.

" _We_ aren't going to do anything, Ron." Harry's voice was calm, but authoritative. "You are going back to get the members of the Order who can aid us best. Your father, McGonagall, and Kingsley should be enough. And I meant what I said earlier, Ron, about the Aurors. Make no fuss, tip no one as to what is going on here. I don't want to risk spooking Ginny."

Ron winced. "That's going to be a tough sell, mate. You know how Kingsley can be about channels. If this goes bad-."

"If this goes bad, he'll have a lot more to worry about," Harry said calmly. "You can believe that."

"It's going to take some time for me to convince them," Ron said weakly. "Are you sure that you don't want me to stay?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Ron. You need to go now. The longer we wait the better chance of Ginny slipping past us. I've lost too much already. I don't want to lose another friend."

"All right, Harry, I'll fetch them. But don't you start this without me!" He disapparated, his last sight that of Harry's face, the look on it one of sadness and loss.


	9. Come Together

Chapter Nine: Come Together

As soon as Ron vanished, Harry pulled several pieces of parchment from his robe. Producing a quill from thin air, he began scribbling. Page after page he wrote, pausing every few minutes to flex stiff fingers. As he wrote, tears fell unhindered, absorbed into the paper as he scrawled his missive. He signed it, folded it, and placed it on the table.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I cannot live this life, my life, without you. You are my heart, and no man can survive without his heart."

He removed his robe and warded the door against intrusion, making sure the spells would hold against all but the strongest magic. Then he started up the hill, headed for the standing stones that lurked like some sort of monolithic guard. He had been speaking the truth when he'd told Ron that he knew what this was about. Draco had told him of Bellatrix's fascination with the standing stones. Why she'd chosen an obscure place such as Raphoe was still a mystery, but he knew that she believed that the stones were key to her return.

The walk took longer than he'd expected. The distance was not great, but the street was crowded, and Harry walked slowly, not wanting to call attention to himself. The thick grass was wet; before he'd traveled a hundred yards his jeans were soaked to the knees. Shadows stretched out long to the east as he approached the top of the hill, the sun already making a downward trajectory toward the sea.

Harry surveyed the ground inside the stone circle; it was rough and uneven. "Terrible place for a fight," he muttered. Looking around, he saw no Muggles; this late in the day he guessed that they had no wish to be caught in the swirling fogs filled the moor when the sun faded. Raising his wand high, he fired sparks into the air. Red and green, they burst across the sky, flashing bright enough to be seen from the city. Then he sat down to wait.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Ginny's eyes gleamed as she watched the sky light up above the city. "Get up," she said, nudging the still form at her feet. Malfoy moaned, his face covered with blood, his pale hair matted and dirty. "Destiny is here."

He got to his feet slowly, cradling his wand hand. The fingers were swollen like sausages; in a fit of temper Ginny had crushed them beneath the heel of her boot. "Potter doesn't care about me," he said. "He cares about you. You're the one he's after."

"I know that, Draco. But you're my little insurance policy. Potter can't help but play the hero; it's in his nature." In the darkness of the room Ginny's hair was dark, and Draco felt gooseflesh break out all over his body as the madness of Bellatrix burned in her eyes, Weasley's blue replaced by depthless black. "You'll see, Draco. You'll see when I take his life, snuff him out like the filthy half-blood that he is."

She motioned with her wand. Draco walked to the door, but hesitated before turning the knob. "I know that you're in there, Ginny. Take your life back before she destroys you, the same way she destroyed herself!"

"Do shut up, Draco." She pointed the wand and he closed his eyes, certain that he'd finally overstepped himself for the last time. "Scourgify!" He opened them to see her grinning at him, mad eyes dancing with glee. "Can't have you drawing the wrong sort of attention. We don't want to miss our date with Harry." Together they began the walk through town, pushing past the Muggles with no concern for their sharp looks and curses as they started toward the stones.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Ron Weasley sat outside Kingsley's office, firmly holding on to his temper with both hands. The Minster had refused to see him on such short notice, his aide telling the Auror that he would be squeezed in between appointments if the Minister could spare the time. Only his loyalty to Harry kept Ron from blasting down the door and shouting his mission to the world.

"Oh, bugger it," he muttered after more than an hour had passed. Drawing his wand he started forward when the door swung open and McGonagall stepped out, followed by Kingsley.

"Ah, Weasley, good to see you again," the Headmistress said. "How are Padma and the children?"

"Ginny has Malfoy," he said, just low enough that he could not be overheard. "Harry's in Ireland."

"Inside, now." Kingsley motioned to Minerva, and she hurried back into the room, Ron just behind her. Kingsley set wards against anyone attempting to listen in before turning to face them. "All right, Weasley," he said. "Start from the beginning, if you please."

Ron quickly filled them in on Harry's supposition about Bellatrix and a Horcrux. By the time he finished, both Kingsley and McGonagall were staring at him in horror.

"We must summon the Aurors at once," Kingsley said, but Ron shook his head.

"No, Minister," he said. "I promised Harry that it would just be the three of us and Dad. He doesn't want Ginny harmed."

"What about it, Minerva? Think we can handle this?"

"I believe that we'll be fine with Arthur and Mr. Weasley here, Kingsley," she said. Her eyes flashed, and Ron stepped back as the old witch's eyes turned cold and steely. "Besides, I'd really like another crack at Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Ron, can you fetch your dad without letting Molly know what's going on here?"

He nodded. "I believe that I can. This time of day he's probably in the shed, tinkering." Ron knew that Arthur had been spending too much time alone in the years since Fred's death; he hoped that this would snap his father out of his perpetual funk.

"Fine, then," Kingsley said. "Do not waste time." Ron didn't answer, but Apparated before Kingsley could change his mind. "Come here, Minerva," Kingsley said as he started toward a small vault in the wall behind his desk. Muttering words of magic, he reached inside as the door vanished, pulling out three slender metal tubes. He handed one to the witch, who looked at him, eyes questioning. "Basilisk fangs," he explained.

"So you believe Weasley's story?"

"I do. Bellatrix was in Voldemort's inner circle for years. If there were any Death Eater that he would have confided in about the forging of Horcruxes, I'd think Bellatrix would be the logical choice."

"I agree, Minister."

The formality did not go past Kingsley. "We're back to Minister, Minerva?"

McGonagall sighed. "I know that you know of Hermione Granger's death, Kingsley. But do you know the circumstances?"

"I thought it was ruled a suicide. Are you telling me now that we were wrong?"

"Dead wrong. She was murdered."

Kingsley stared at her in astonishment. "Murdered? How?"

"By a very clever poison. And Ginny Weasley was the murderer."

Kingsley stared. "H-How do you know this, Minerva? Where did you get your information?"

Further conversation was interrupted by the return of Ron with Arthur Weasley. "Minister, Minerva," he sputtered. "Ron's dragged me here with some nonsense about Ginny. Just what the devil is going on?" He wiped hands covered with dust on his trousers. They were filthy, and he succeeded in nothing more than rearranging the dirt. His entire appearance was disheveled, but there was a fire in his eyes which had been missing since the night of the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Sit down, Arthur." Kingsley motioned to a chair and Arthur sat. "Now, Minerva. Tell Arthur and Ron what you just told me."

McGonagall repeated her theory of Hermione's death, ignoring Arthur's shout of disbelief. Kingsley pulled a bottle of Ogden's finest from the desk and poured a tumbler half full. "Drink up, man,' he said as he pressed it into Arthur's hand.

"You don't seem too surprised, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, pulling Ron aside as the Minister tended to the elder Weasley.

"No, I'm not, Professor," he said, pitching his voice low so that the others would not hear. "Harry told me the same thing."

"Of course he did," she muttered, half to herself. "Got mixed up in this mess through Malfoy and Finnegan, has he?"

Ron paled. "Professor-."

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," she said. "I loved Hermione nearly as much as you and Mr. Potter. I will not give away the nature of his relationship with Mr. Malfoy if he doesn't wish it."

"Thank you," Ron said, relieved.

"Oh, don't thank me yet, Mr. Weasley. When this is over, I'd imagine that the Ministry will have many questions for the three of you."

"I'll take my chances with Kingsley before I'll cross Harry."

McGonagall sniffed, but Ron could have sworn he saw a twinkle in her eye as she turned back to Kingsley and Arthur. "Well now, are we ready to go?"

"I believe so, Minerva," Kingsley said with a shrewd look at her and Ron. "Young Mr. Weasley, if you would?" He put out his hand, followed by Arthur's. McGonagall place hers on top of Arthur's, and the three looked expectantly at the younger wizard.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. He placed his hand (which was shaking) on top of the other three. Closing his eyes, he focused on the cottage in Raphoe, and the four of them vanished through the ether.

A/N: This is the last update for this story for a while; things around here are mad at the moment. I have a deadline to hit on another project, and NanoWrimo is fast approaching. When Nano ends, I hope to knock out the last 2 (3?) chapters pretty quick. It's about to get real! As always, please read and review if this story tickles your fancy. Cheers!


	10. Paid in Full

Chapter Ten: Paid in Full

They landed in front of the cottage without any sense of movement. "Impressive, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, her smile genuine and warm.

"Thanks," Ron said, blushing. "Learned it from Her- Hermione." He gulped at the mention of her name, and Arthur laid a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"We know, son," he said gently.

"Well, let's get started." Kingsley moved toward the cottage, but when he touched the knob, a blinding flash knocked him backward, and he landed sprawling on the stone walk. Arthur and Ron helped him to his feet, and he glared at Ron as he brushed the dust from his robes. "Why would Harry put up wards if he knew that we were coming to aid him, Ron?"

"I don't know, Minister," Ron said. "He promised that he'd wait."

"I think that he might have lied," Arthur said. He pointed toward the hill, where flares of green and red flashed across the rapidly darkening sky.

"Oh shit," Ron muttered.

"I'll get to work on unraveling this, Kingsley," McGonagall said. "You three go and take care of Potter and Ginny."

"Thank you, Minerva. Get some Aurors here. We're going to have to do quite a bit of memory modification after this, I'd imagine."

"I'll get right to it. In the meantime, I'll see if I can get through those wards. I'm certain that Potter had a good reason to put them up. I'd like to know what it is." The three men started up the hill, and Minerva turned back to the cottage. "I hope you know what you're doing, Potter," she murmured.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Power gathered in the air, alerting Harry to Ginny's presence, and he stepped into the circle as she came forward, pushing Malfoy in front of her. Draco looked a little the worse for wear, but Harry thought he might be able to aid in his own defense if he could get hold of a wand.

"Let him go, Ginny," Harry said as the pair moved toward him. "He's done nothing to harm you."

"Nothing to harm me, Harry?" She laughed, a high, cackling sound that made the hair stand up on the back of Harry's neck. A shiver ran through him, but he pushed aside the fear it brought with it. "I loved you from the day I saw you!" she screamed, and her eyes were wild and dark. "I gave you my heart, and you left me for _her_! You sacrificed everything we had just so you could be with _her_!" Tears streaked her cheeks and she rubbed them away, her face blotchy and red. "And then you had this piece of shit follow me." She pushed Draco; unprepared, he fell face first to the ground. He groaned as he tried to catch himself, broken fingers throbbing.

"You killed her, Ginny!" Harry's eyes blazed, and Ginny took a step back, her face fearful—and confused. "You took the only thing in my life that mattered!" He pulled the little bottle from his pocket and threw it at her feet. Ginny flinched as it shattered against a rock. "You couldn't let it go," and now his voice was low and filled with menace. "She may have taken her own life, but your hand was on the rope."

He pulled his wand out, but did not point it at her. Reaching into his back pocket he took Bellatrix's wand and tossed it to land less than a foot in front of her. "Go ahead," he said. "Take it." He bent and laid his wand the same distance from his own feet. "I'll even give you the first shot. But know this, Ginny. This is a duel to the death. Only one of us is going to walk out of this circle. My only condition is that you let Draco go free."

"Potter, no!" Draco scrambled to his feet. "She'll kill you. It's the Horcrux. It's driving her mad!"

"Go, Draco." It was Ginny's lips that moved, but the voice coming from her throat was Bellatrix. "Leave baby Potter to me. Let me finish the Dark Lord's work!"

"No!" Draco stumbled toward her, and a green light flashed from her hand. He fell, his eyes lifeless, and Harry barely had time to duck and grab for his wand before another green jet was heading for him. _I'm sorry, Draco,_ he thought. _I should never have dragged you and Seamus into this._

He heard a mental snort. _Since when could you tell me what to do, Potter,_ a sneering voice asked,and Harry smiled even as he conjured a shield, spinning away from Ginny as she cast a Cruciatus cursein his direction. _I was always my own man, for better or worse, just like you, until the end. Harry, be certain that it's over this time. And-and tell my mother that I love her._

The Resurrection Stone burned hot against his leg for a moment, then was cold once again. The exchange had taken no more than a second, but he turned back to Ginny in time to see another spell coming for him. He circled, focused now, and Ginny's expression grew cunning and feral; he could see Bellatrix's face superimposed on that of his old friend.

"Come on, Potter," she snarled. "Time to play!"

Harry cast several stunning spells at her, but she dodged them easily. "If you'll come to me, Potter, I'll make it easy for you," she said, her voice filled with contempt. "Put down your wand and accept your fate."

"You're as mad as he was, Bellatrix," Harry said as they circled. He knew he was facing the deranged Death Eater now; Ginny's consciousness had been completely subsumed. It had been Bellatrix all along, pulling string like some sort of twisted puppeteer. "You will meet the same fate."

"I don't see you risking the death of your best friend's sister, Potter." Bellatrix grinned with Ginny's lips and Harry's stomach turned over at the sight. "Albus infected you with the nobility that always crippled him against the Dark Lord."

"Tom was as blind as you are. He fed on fear, on the terror that murder struck in the hearts of the Wizarding world." He cast a silent Stunner, but Ginny's youthful body worked in Bellatrix's favor. She skipped out of the way, casting another Cruciatus. Harry recalled Dumbledore's words years before. _She likes to play with her food before she eats it._

A red stunner clipped the edge of one of the stones, and Harry looked away to see Arthur, Kingsley, and Ron sprinting toward them. _Forgive me, old friends,_ he thought. _This is not your fight._ Holding his wand high, he bellowed, " _Pefendum ignisium!"_

Everything stopped. The three men vanished, falling back as a wall of Fiendfyre spouted from the tip of Harry's wand. It rose high to form a dome, shutting out the rest of the world. Bellatrix went sprawling, her hands over her ears as the magical fire chuckled and roared. There was fear in her eyes, and Harry stepped back, letting the flames fade from his wand.

The dome remained, and Bellatrix stared at him in awe. "Now, Bellatrix," Harry said in a voice as cold as the grave. "We finish what we started."

"You're playing with me," she said, and Harry could see her wand hand shaking.

"Yes, I am," Harry replied, and there was grim humor in his voice. "I want to make you suffer, Bella. I intend to make you suffer the way that Neville suffered, the way his parents suffered. Are you frightened, Bella? If you're not, you will be, I swear it. You see, while I was always Dumbledore's man, Tom was in my head for years, and I remember well the pleasure he felt while he tortured men and women in his quest for power." His eyes gleamed. "And I liked it."

" _Crucio!"_ she cried, whipping her wand up as fast as anyone Harry had ever seen. He watched the curse speeding toward him; at the last second he motioned with his left hand, and it ricocheted harmlessly off the summoned shield. Harry's wand spat silver, and she fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

He allowed it to go on until she was on the verge of unconsciousness. " _Rennervate!"_ he snapped, grinning as strength returned to the hapless woman before him. She lay on the ground, gasping as her nerve endings stopped firing. "Had enough, Bella?" he asked. Do you want me to kill you now?"

"You had your chance in the Department of Mysteries," she hissed. "You were too weak then, you're too weak now."

"Yes, well, Tom taught me a lot that night. He taught me about hatred, about revenge." He stared down at her, green eyes spitting with his rage. _"Crucio!"_

Bellatrix rolled out of the way at the last second. "You filthy half-blood!" she cried as a red glow flashed out, and Harry crashed to the earth with a grunt of pain as he felt a rush of blood spatter down his robes. She pushed herself to her feet, looming over him in triumph. "This time your death will be forever, Harry Potter. None of Mummy's magic left to save you. None of the Dark Lord's magic remaining inside you."

"They'll hunt you down, Bellatrix. Hunt you to the ends of the earth. The Ministry knows about your Horcrux. They aren't about to stand by and watch another Tom Riddle take control of people's lives."

"His name is Voldemort!" she screeched. " _Crucio!"_

Harry laughed wildly as he writhed on the ground, a mad sound. "You've lost already, you're just too ignorant to realize it. Do you think Kingsley is going to stand there waiting to see what happens? I'll bet that the Aurors are already here, waiting to see how our little game plays out. You're good, but not that good. They'll stun Ginny, take those pretty emerald earrings, and destroy them."

Bellatrix threw back her head and laughed, her eyes snapping with mirth. "Before my Lord died, he discovered how to make these immune to basilisk venom. You see, Potter, penetrating them with a basilisk fang would have destroyed them, but these have been soaked in venom for over two years. They are now immune to the poison."

Harry curled in on himself, and Bellatrix let the curse fade. She walked over to him, nudging him with her foot. " _Stupefy!"_

" _Protego!"_ Harry whispered. Bellatrix staggered back, cursing as the reflected spell nicked her wand arm. The wand fell to the ground, and she rubbed her stinging hand as Harry stood. "Now it's over, Bella," he said. He raised his wand, and a tendril of fire snaked down from the top of the dome. It sizzled and spat as it wrapped around the slender white neck, and her hair (Ginny's hair, Harry reminded himself) glowed in the light, but did not burn.

"Your time will come, Potter," she said, and her eyes danced with mad glee in the unnatural glow.

"I truly hope you're right," he said. Pointing his wand at the woman he hated most, Harry let dark exhilaration fill his heart. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," he whispered. A stag erupted from the end of his wand even as he tightened the noose. The noose expanded until it engulfed Ginny's head as the silver form enveloped the girl. A violent explosion blew him back into one of the stones as the form of Bellatrix Lestrange grew, screaming as it attempted to escape through the Fiend Fyre.

Another explosion, this one of green fire, and ash rained down like snow. Coughing and wheezing, Harry went to were Ginny lay, her eyes wide open as they had been in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. The eyes were lucid now, the same clear blue that he'd fallen for in her fifth year. "Harry, I'm sorry," she said. "About Hermione, about everything. Bellatrix-."

"Shh, I know Ginny. I'm not blaming you, not anymore." He could hear yells and screams now; the fire was beginning to fade as his adrenaline waned. "But you have to do something for me. I-I can't do it myself." He stared at her, emerald eyes blazing in the dying light. Ginny saw blood dripping to the ground, and she stared in horror at the tacky feel of his blood-soaked robes. "She got off a lucky _Sectumsempra_ ," he said as he slumped to a sitting position.

"No," she said, backing away as his meaning became clear. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. Please, I beg you, Ginny. If you ever loved me at all, do for me what Professor Snape did for Professor Dumbledore. End my pain."

"Harry." Ginny was sobbing now. "Think of what will happen to me. They'll chuck me in Azkaban and throw away the key!"

"No, they won't." Harry spoke softly as he took her hand; he did not want to lose her now. "I left explicit documentation expressing my wishes. Tell Ron to remove this memory. Take it to the Pensieve in McGonagall's office. Show Kingsley, show Arthur. They will know the truth." He looked at her, eyes filled with an agony that went deeper than anything physical. "Please, let me go so that I can be with Hermione. We all owe the universe a death, Ginny. My mum sacrificed herself for me, but I'll never be whole until the circle is complete."

She nodded, kissing his lips, a light brush of skin on skin. "All right, Harry," she said. Tears were coming so hard now that he was doubled in her vision, but her wand was steady. "Take this," Harry said, lobbing his wand so that it landed gently bedside her. "Someday you can pass it along to your own son."

Ginny stood, her heart breaking, and Harry closed his eyes. "I love you," she whispered as she raised her shaking hand.

White hot heat on his leg caused him to open his eyes. As Ginny's lips formed the spell, Hermione appeared beside him. A phantom hand caressed his cheek, and Harry reached up, placing his own hand over hers.

 _Come home, love_. Hermione's words, Hermione's voice, echoed in his head, and his heart filled with warmth. _Come be with me forever_. Green light flashed across the clearing. Smiling, Harry Potter went forward into the light.

A/N: This chapter has been incredibly difficult to write; I received word today that one of my best friends has died. Not a suicide, but natural causes, but very unexpected. I will miss him truly. He has always pushed me to write, even when I wanted to give up. So, James, this one is for you, my friend. I hope that you are now at peace.


	11. Aftermath

When Arthur and Kingsley, with help from the Aurors who had arrived, vanquished the Fiendfyre, they found Ginny huddled over Harry's lifeless body. She turned a tear-stained face up to them. "He's gone," she whispered, and Ron loosed a howl of anger, of sadness and loss.

"NO!" He flung himself to his knees, pulling Harry into his arms. Hot tears of grief coursed down his cheeks and splashed on Harry's ashen face.

"Come away, son." Arthur put a warm hand on Ron's shoulder, and Ron laid Harry gently on the ground, closing his staring eyes.

"Why, Dad? After all he's been through, why?" he asked, his grief threatening to tear his heart apart.

Arthur hugged him tight. He'd lost one son in the war, and now he felt as if he'd lost another. "I don't know, Ron," he said softly, his own tears wetting his cheeks. "I wish I had the answer."

They stood like that for a few moments, until a polite cough brought them back to the present. Wiping his eyes, Arthur was surprised to see Kingsley, his face taut with barely controlled anger. Two Aurors stood a few yards away, each grasping one of Ginny's arms. "What's the meaning of this, Kingsley?" he said, starting toward his daughter.

"You can't talk to her, Arthur," Kingsley replied. Nodding to the Aurors, he watched as they Apparated away, taking Harry's body with them.

"Why the bloody hell not?" Ron stood beside Arthur, his face nearly as red as his hair. "Why the Aurors? What's she done?"

"She killed Harry," Kingsley replied. "By her own admission." His face, haggard in the magic light, looked as if he'd aged ten years in the last hour. "She will stand before the complete Wizengamot tomorrow morning. Based on what she's told us so far, I expect that she'll be in Azkaban by noon."

"No, she will not." Minerva stepped into the light, and Ron held back an exclamation of surprise. If he'd thought Kingsley looked bad, Minerva looked worse. Ron would swear that she'd had less grey in her hair when they'd begun this mad day. "Kingsley, Arthur, why don't we meet in my office in ten minutes?"

"What about me?" Ron said. "Is this Order business, too terrible for the young ones?" he sneered, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

Arthur opened his mouth to reprimand him but subsided when Minerva shook her head slightly. "Mr. Weasley and I will not be far behind," she said. She made a shooing gesture, and took Ron's arm, turning to walk toward the middle of the stone circle. The two men looked after them, bemused, but they'd received their walking orders. The years spent at Hogwarts under the watchful eyes of the powerful witch took over, and after a few words with the senior Auror on site, Kingsley and Arthur disapparated.

When they were gone, Minerva looked at Ron, her face filled with sadness. "Come along, Mr. Weasley," she said. "We need a more private place to talk." She took his hand, and they vanished into the night.

Ron stumbled a bit as they reappeared in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. "Sorry about that," McGonagall said. "It's been a long day." She bowed her head, muttering low, and the grim gray stone of the Order's headquarters slowly parted the houses beside it. "Come on, Mr. Weasley," she said. "We don't have much time."

He followed close behind her as she started down to the kitchen. "Professor, what is this all about?" he panted as they went down. "What was all that about Ginny not going to Azkaban?" He pulled up as the full import of the words hit him for the first time. His sister had killed Harry, the best friend he'd ever had.

"I know what you're thinking, Mr. Weasley," Minerva said as his face reddened. "But you mustn't blame her. She was only doing what she'd been asked to do." She pulled a thick envelope from a pocket inside her robes and laid it on the table. Ron could see his name written in Harry's inimitable scribble, and he stared at her, eyes wide.

"Call Kreacher, Mr. Weasley. I have a theory to test."

He shot her a look of puzzlement, but said, "Kreacher, come here."

He heard a pop and the old house elf appeared beside him. "What would you have me do, Master?" he croaked, and Ron could see that his eyes were red, tear tracks on his cheeks."

"If you will allow me, Mr. Weasley?" He nodded and she said, "Kreacher, Draco Malfoy lies dead in the stone circle at Raphoe. Please go there and take his body home to Narcissa. Express my deepest sympathies and tell her that I will contact her as soon as I have a free moment."

Kreacher nodded and disapparated with a _crack_. Ron looked at McGonagall in surprise. "What did that mean?" he asked. "Kreacher's never so much as fetched me a pitcher of pumpkin juice if I asked. Why is he obeying me now?"

McGonagall gestured to the letter as she motioned for Ron to stand beside her. "From what I saw, Mr. Potter has left this cursed house to you, along with Kreacher." Ron started toward the table, but she shook her head. "There's no time, Mr. Weasley," she said. "You can read it when we get the matter of Ginevra settled. Now, take my arm."

"But you can't Apparate to Hogwarts!" Ron protested. The memory of his splinching while escaping the Ministry during the mad caper to retrieve Slytherin's locket filled him with remembered pain, and he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," she replied, and there was a twinkle in her eye that Ron hadn't seen since she'd told off Umbridge in his fifth year. "There are perks to being Headmistress."

"I bloody hope you're right," he murmured as he took the proffered arm. "I'd hate to end up in the hospital wing again." McGonagall laughed, and the sound followed Ron down and down as they were folded in the familiar darkness.

Kingsley and Arthur were waiting when McGonagall and Ron popped into view beside the fireplace in her office. Their faces were grim, and Kingsley tapped restless fingers on the desk as the old witch took her seat. She took out a set of heavy crystal tumblers and filled them from a bottle she pulled from the top drawer. The liquid was amber, and it smoked even in the heat of the room.

"Ogden's," she said as the three men took their drinks. "It's a '16."

"We can't drink this, Minerva!" Kingsley exclaimed, pushing his back across the desk. "This stuff is rarer than unicorn hooves!"

"Take it," McGonagall said. "You're going to need it." She sighed. "We all are, I'm afraid." They all took a deep drink, and Ron marveled at the smoothness of the liquor as a trail of fire burned its way down into his stomach.

"Minerva," Kingsley said, setting his glass down with a look of appreciation. "I need to know what happened. Word of something like this cannot be contained. Soon the owls will be arriving, and I've got to be able to give them _something_."

"Don't worry about it, Kingsley," McGonagall replied. She took two vials from her pocket, and laid them on the desk, out of the Minister's reach. Ron could see the swirling silver vapor and realized that these were memories.

"Who do those belong to, Minerva?" Arthur's voice was breaking, and Ron crossed the room to stand next to his father, slipping a supporting arm around the stooped shoulders.

"They are Potter's," she replied and Ron felt his heart squeeze with grief and loss. "He removed them before going to the circle. They are identical, and I believe that once you see them, and retrieve her memory of what went on in that circle, you'll be ready to set Miss Weasley free."

The lines on Kingsley's face deepened, and he looked stern and forbidding as he stared at the sealed vials. "No matter what they contain, I don't see a way out of it for her, Minerva," he said, looking apologetically to Arthur and Ron. "She was caught, wand in hand, Harry's wand beside her. Looks like a cut and dried case to me, and to the others."

"I'm sorry, Minister," and the stiff formality of McGonagall's tone was not lost on him. "But I must disagree. You see, I've known Harry Potter for ten years now. I watched him grow, not only as a wizard but as a man. He defeated Voldemort, the greatest evil the Wizarding world has seen in hundreds of years, and still I watched, hoping that the fame and honors he'd earned would not go to his head."

"It never did." Arthur's quiet voice cut through the silence. "He was the same as that bright child that Molly helped onto Platform 9 all those years ago."

"He was," Ron said. "Even when he was mobbed by girls and reporters everywhere he went in the first months after Voldemort's fell, he never bragged or took advantage of his fame. All he ever wanted to do was get home."

"This is all well and good," Kingsley said. "But I fail to see what this has to do with Ginny."

The Pensieve floated from its pedestal, landing silently in front of the Minister. "Take one of those vials, Kingsley," McGonagall said as he lifted it, delicately removing the stopper. Minerva sat back, her drink cradled in both hands.

Ron watched as the Minister poured the thin silver vapor into the swirling liquid of the Pensieve. "Arthur," he said, his eyes softening as he looked at his friend. "Would you like to see this, too?"

Arthur swallowed hard, and for a minute Ron thought that his father might refuse Kingsley's offer. Then the elder Weasley stood tall, and together he and Kingsley plunged their heads into the magical basin and vanished from view.

"Mr. Weasley." Minerva's voice was so low that he barely heard her.

"Yes, Professor," he said and her piercing eyes bored into him as if she could read his thoughts.

"Mr. Weasley, take that second vial and put it in your pocket. After your father and Kingsley return, I believe that they will be returning to the Ministry as quickly as possible."

"Why?" Ron asked as he slipped it into the pocket of his robe.

"Because, Mr. Weasley, I believe that Potter's memory will be all the evidence they need. However, I believe that you should have time to view the memory yourself, preferably somewhere you will not be interrupted. But, I would like to go with you, if you will allow it."

"Of course, Professor," he said. "I'd be honored."

The minutes ticked away, and Ron sipped at his Firewhiskey, savoring the smoothness and the spicy burn as it glowed in his stomach. Twenty minutes passed, and finally Kingsley and Arthur stepped back. "Apologies, Minerva, "Arthur said. "The Minister and I must be at the Ministry at once. May we use your Floo?"

"By all means, Arthur," McGonagall said. "Floo powder is on the mantle."

"Come on, Kingsley," Arthur said as he dragged the man across the floor to the fireplace.

The Minister looked like he'd taken two or three blows from Hagrid; his eyes were glassy, and he kept muttering, "I don't understand." Minerva retrieved the memory, corking and handing it to Arthur. He murmured thanks and he and Kingsley disappeared in a flash of green.

A/N: I hope that you haven't given up on this story. I haven't had the time I used to due to work and moving from one state to another. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and as always, please read and review!


	12. The Darkest Hour

A/N: I'll freely admit that this story has gotten away from me a little, but I hope that I haven't gotten too far off point. Nevertheless, it is drawing to a close, and I hope to have it wrapped up in three or four more chapters. In the meantime, please feel free to let me know some of your favorite pairings. I'm leaning toward Harry/Narcissa for my next story, but I am open to suggestions. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, please read and review!

Minerva put her head in her hands as the green flames faded. _I'm getting too old for this_ , she thought. _So many students, so many_ friends _, that I've lost through the years. I don't know how many more innocent deaths I can handle._

"Life goes on," she murmured as she stood. Ron looked at her, questions in his eyes. "Forgive me. Mr. Weasley," she said aloud. Do you have the vial?"

He nodded, and the old witch covered the Pensieve. She spun her wand with a flourish, shrinking the heavy bowl to the size of a dinner plate. Sliding it into her bag, she turned to him. "Ready?" she asked.

"Yes," Ron replied, taking hold of the arm she extended to him. "Where are we going?

"To the ancestral home of the McGonagall's. It's the best place for us to speak uninterrupted." Ron swallowed hard and in an instant, they were gone.

They apparated near a small ramshackle building and Ron shivered in the windy night air. Gaping holes in the walls reminded him of the blank eyes of the dead and he pulled his arms around his body in an attempt to keep warm. "Wow, Professor," he said through chattering teeth. "No one has been here in a long time."

McGonagall chuckled as she waved her wand in a complicated pattern. "Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," she said. "That's part of the wards. Well, that and Muggle-Repelling charms." She reached out to him. "Come on; take my hand so we can get out of this chill."

She reached out and he gave her his hand, closing his eyes as they walked forward. The air stilled and he warmed quickly. "Well, let's go to my library. We'll set up Pensieve there and we can see this memory in peace."

Ron opened his eyes—and gasped in wonder. They stood in a small foyer, but the room before them was well-lit and inviting. McGonagall did not wait but began walking toward the light, and her voice floated back to him. "Keep up, Mr. Weasley," she said. "Trust me when I say that you do not want to get lost in my house."

He hurried after her as she strode quickly to a heavy oaken door. She tapped her wand on the lock and the door swung open. The familiar scent of old parchment and ink filled his nostrils as he looked around the room. Bookshelves lined three walls, rising so high that he couldn't see the tops. "Hermione would have loved it here," he said, his voice heavy with sadness as images of her in the library at Hogwarts played like a movie in his mind.

"She was dying, Mr. Weasley. A slow, painful death had she allowed it to continue. There are still some things that magic cannot cure, and in this case, her Muggle blood worked against her."

Ron nodded. "I know, Professor," he said. "Harry told me." His voice cracked on his mate's name, and his eyes filled with fresh tears. He turned to Minerva, surprised to see tear tracks on her wrinkled cheeks.

"He was tired, too," she said, voice hoarse with emotion. "He gave so much during the war with Voldemort, you all did. But Hermione's death changed him. It was as if he'd had his legs kicked out from under him, and then broken."

"Why did he not reach out?" Ron asked. "Surely there were people who could have talked him through his pain."

"The vial please, Mr. Weasley." He handed it to her and she continued as she broke the seal and removed the stopper. A stone pedestal rose out of the floor in the western corner, and Ron watched as the Pensieve floated from McGonagall's bag, growing in size as it spun across the room and settled without a sound. "Potter came to see me about three months after Hermione's death," she continued. "Already the bottle had begun to take control, and I pleaded with him to speak with your mother and father, and others who had already experienced loss." She shook her head. "He refused." She looked at Ron, her face filled with grief. "Always remember, Mr. Weasley, we cannot help someone who does not wish to be helped, no matter how much we wish it otherwise. Now, are you ready?"

He nodded, and McGonagall poured the contents of the vial into the silvery liquid. "Professor," he said as she laid it aside. "I've never used a Pensieve before."

"Oh, well then, take my hand." Ron reached out to her, managing not to flinch as cold fingers wrapped around his. "Dip your head under," she said, leaning over the basin. On three, if you please. One, two, three." Ron closed his eyes, plunging forward and down, and then his world disappeared into swirling grey mist.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When the Minister and Arthur returned to Kingsley's office, there were met by the sound of buzzing, like an angry hive of bees. "You cannot keep a secret in this bloody place," Kingsley muttered. "Come on, Arthur, we might as well get this over with."

"Perhaps we might bring Ginny here, Minister," Arthur suggested. "I would not wish for any 'unfortunate accidents' to take place once rumor is confirmed as fact."

Kingsley looked at him, eyes narrowed, but he did not see a man critical of his office, simply a concerned father. "Probably for the best," he said.

He opened the door and gave orders to the Aurors guarding it that they not be disturbed. When he pulled it shut, Arthur looked him, eyebrows raised. "What do you have in mind, Kingsley?"

"I believe that we need unimpeachable witnesses, my friend. We don't want even a whiff of impropriety that those fools at the _Prophet_ might latch onto. We cannot have dissension in our world. It's one of the reasons for Voldemort's success and I do not wish to see another rise from his ashes. I've called six of the ranking members of the Wizengamot. Together they are the entirety of our law system in microcosm." Arthur started to protest, but Kingsley held up his hand and the eldest Weasley closed his mouth with a snap.

Kingsley looked at his old friend and his eyes softened. He knew that Arthur's family had suffered enough grief with Fred's death and now he stood to lose his only daughter and in Harry had lost a surrogate son. "It's for the best, Arthur. If we don't get a handle on this, people will begin to talk."

Arthur snorted. "I'm sure it's already Rita Skeeter's plan to have this splattered across the front page tomorrow."

Kingsley shook his head. "No, I had the returning Aurors lock every Floo but mine, and they cast an anti-apparition net around the Ministry and closed the Owlery. But time is of the essence if we want to get out in front of this thing."

The Floo behind them burst into flame, and four men and two women stepped out. Arthur recognized them all, and his heart sank at the sight of Aloysius Carrow, Martin Bulstrode, and Felicia Malfoy. He didn't have much time to think about everything that could go wrong with these three; James Slughorn stood in front of them, extending his hand, murmuring, "It's going to be alright, Arthur."

"Thanks, James," he said before being swept into a hug by Caryn Abbot.

"I don't know what Kingsley wants with us, but I'm certain it will come right," she whispered.

"I hope so," he said as he moved to Geneva Ollivander.

"Good to see you, Arthur," she said, putting out a hand in welcome.

"It's been a long time, Geneva," he said. "How have you been?"

Her face fell, but she managed a smile. "It's been a rough year. With Garrick's death, I've had to take on the responsibilities of the shop in Diagon Alley. I have a couple of good apprentices, but even together, they haven't got a tenth of Grandfather's wisdom."

Arthur opened his mouth to answer her, but Aloysius Carrow spoke first. "Minister," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "What is so urgent that you have dragged us away from home and hearth?"

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, ladies," Kingsley said. "If you will please have a little patience, I will explain. For now, I ask that you wait in one of the courtrooms."

"Is it true, Minister? Is it true that the Boy Who Lived is dead?" The silky tones of Felicia Malfoy, so much like her cousin Lucius sent a shiver down Arthur's spine, but Kingsley 's voice was smooth as he said, "It is, Felicia. Less than an hour ago, Harry Potter was killed by Ginevra Weasley."

Both Bulstrode and Carrow expressed their sympathy, but Arthur and the rest knew that it was insincere; although not Death Eaters themselves, their families had been members of the pure-blood aristocracy. Felicia Malfoy, however, looked surprised, and a little fearful. Arthur began to see the beauty of Kingsley's plan. If Ginny were cleared with a unanimous vote here, this matter would never have to go before the full Wizengamot. The Minister wanted Ginny cleared tonight. Despite his earlier misgivings, Arthur felt hope bloom in his heart for the first time since he'd seen Ginny crouched over Harry's body.

"If you would please follow me," Kingsley said, and the eight of them started toward the lifts, four Aurors falling into step with the party, two to each side.

They walked briskly, ignoring the shouted questions of the men and women who were sealed in the building until this situation was resolved, and Arthur stepped into the lift with the others. Carrow stared at him, frowning. "And where do you think you're going, Weasley?" he snapped. "You have no business here!"

"I am her father," Arthur said, and now the famous Weasley temper could be seen as his neck reddened, flowing upward until his cheeks were pink. "I'm not leaving her alone in all this, and it would not be in your best interests to try and stop me."

"Let him be, Carrow," Kingsley growled. "He's here at my request."

Carrow subsided, mumbling under his breath, and Arthur's spirits rose as the lift gate closed and they shot backward, then down, down, into the bowels of the Ministry. They came to a stop in the black hallway that he would always associate with the farce of a trial in Harry's fifth year.

Here they separated, the jurists stepping into one of the courtrooms as Arthur and Kingsley started toward the Department of Mysteries. "Stay with them," he said to the Aurors. No one but Arthur and I may enter."

"And is going to watch over you?" asked the senior Auror. He stared at the door, a black look on his face at the sight of the two Unspeakables guarding the door.

"We'll be fine, Harris," Kingsley, and now there was a hint of steel in his voice. The man opened his mouth to speak, but at a glare from his superior, he nodded, and Kingsley and Arthur started forward. As they approached, the Unspeakables stood aside as the door swung inward, and another approached, motioning them to follow. As the two men walked through the door, it swung closed with a low, booming sound.

"What about the Aurors?" Arthur spoke quietly to Kingsley and the big man shrugged.

"It is part of the laws governing the Unspeakables that no one is allowed here who doesn't have business here. Don't worry, Arthur. We are safe."

Arthur shivered as they started down the corridor. No one spoke and soon their breath puffed out before them as the cold sank deeper into their bones. He opened his mouth to ask how much further they were going when the Unspeakable leading the way stopped. "Gentlemen, I must insist that you surrender your wands before entering."

They handed them over, and their guide secured the two wands in a bottomless bag, tucking it away inside his robes. "Stand back, please," he said. Kinsley and Arthur pressed their backs against the opposite wall, and he bowed his head, wand held loosely in his fingers. Two minutes passed, the three, and Arthur began to shuffle his feet, looking nervously at his companion.

The Minister stood calmly, and the elder Weasley could do nothing but watch in silence. Another minute ticked by before the corridor began to lighten, and he was forced to avert his face as a door-sized portion of the wall began to glow, the light intensifying until it was brighter than the sun. At last, the light faded and the Unspeakable stood aside, revealing a door, and Arthur tried to get his eyes acclimated to the gloom of the corridor even as he started forward.

Kingsley hung back, and Arthur turned back, curiosity stamped on his face. "Aren't you coming?" he asked, and Kingsley shook his head.

"She's your daughter, Arthur," he said. I'll give you ten minutes alone with her."

"Thank you, Kingsley," Arthur replied, and he turned toward the door. As he approached, an ancient knob, etched with the outline of Azkaban, materialized, and he swallowed hard before turning it and pushing the door open.

It creaked open to reveal a small cell, about ten feet square. Ginny Weasley stood, head down and shoulders slumped, and Arthur felt his heart break a little. "Ginny," he said softly. "It's Dad."

She turned slowly, her eyes dull and lifeless. She looked at him as if he was a stranger, but he reached out a hand, cupping her chin. "Ginny," he said again. "Ginny, please look at me."

She brought her eyes up, and recognition finally dawned. "Dad!" she said. "It's you!" And then she was in his arms, sobbing, great whooping sobs that nearly robbed her of breath, her tears on his chest warm in the chill of the little room. Arthur just stood there, holding her as the storms of her grief raged.

"Don't worry, Ginny," he whispered when she calmed. "I believe you, Kingsley believes you. We'll get you out of this, I promise." She buried her face in his shoulder, and he stroked her hair, hoping that some way, somehow, he could keep his promise to his only daughter.


End file.
